Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4)

by Laura Thalassa

  The Reaper folds his arms and leans back against a nearby wall. “Try it,” he says, lifting his chin. “I dare you.” His eyes promise vengeance.

  Famine is different from his brother, Death. Thanatos might be violent, but there’s no anger to it. He seems grimly resigned to his duty, which makes him and his task all the more frustrating, but at least he doesn’t relish it. Unlike this deviant. I bet Famine loves killing. He looks as though he does.

  Before either of us can say anything else, I hear the familiar, dreaded thump of wings.

  Excitement sparks in Famine’s eyes. “Is that your boyfriend I hear?” he says, tilting his head.

  I part my lips to spit out a scathing retort when the Reaper suddenly crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my arm—

  “Hey!” I yank against his hold.

  With his other hand, he picks up his scythe. Then, giving me a swift jerk, he drags me up against his chest.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  Outside the rain is coming down in torrents, battering the house and pelting the floor through the open windows and doorway.

  “This is called payback, tootsie.” Famine says softly into my ear. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  I open my mouth to respond when the Reaper’s lethal scythe comes up to my neck.

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he says softly. “I don’t plan on hurting you, but if you do something foolish—as you humans so love to do—well, at least it will be a fast death.”

  “You bastard, I thought you wanted my help,” I say. Famine doesn’t know that I can’t be killed, which makes this situation all the more twisted.

  “Oh, I’m fully convinced those self-preservation instincts of yours will kick in and you’ll be an obedient little woman.”

  “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  “Hard pass on the offer, but consider me flattered.”

  I growl out a response, but the press of that blade keeps me from struggling.

  The rain has turned into hail, and off in the distance I see a flash of lightning. Death’s wingbeats grow louder, and then through the doorway I see his malevolent form lower to the ground. His wings fold up and his gaze lands on the open door.

  For an instant I swear I see—surprise? Panic? Whatever it is, it’s gone as soon as it comes. He drops something in his hand and storms forward, up the entryway. Thanatos pauses when he gets to the doorway.

  THA-BOOM! Thunder cracks and lightning lights up the sky. For an instant, Death’s features flash, a winged skeleton flickering over his face and body, then the illusion disappears.

  Immediately, Death’s eyes find mine. They only linger for a second before dropping to the bloody scythe at my neck and, finally, the man wielding it.

  “Famine.” There’s a terrifying note to Thanatos’s voice, one that even in our worst moments, I have never heard him use before. And the look Death gives him is downright lethal.

  Behind me, I can sense the Reaper practically bursting with giddiness.

  He really is a deviant.

  Famine’s grip on my upper arm tightens. “Isn’t this a familiar situation?” he says to Death. “Only last time our roles were reversed.”

  Ah, fuck.

  Whatever’s going on, this isn’t just end-of-the-world stuff, this is revenge stuff. And I’m caught in the middle of it.

  Thanatos prowls forward. “I didn’t know you had a death wish, brother.”

  In a more menacing tone Famine says, “Come any closer and I will slit her throat.”

  Much to my shock, Death stills.

  Why is he not coming any closer? He knows I cannot truly die.

  The Reaper leans his mouth against my ear. “Look at that, tootsie,” he says. “My brother seems to have a heart, after all.”

  To Death, he says, “Painful, isn’t it? Finally you, all-ending Death, know what it’s like to be vulnerable.” His voice is openly gloating.

  Thanatos doesn’t look vulnerable. Just full of wrath.

  “You don’t think I’m aware that our brothers are a mere mile from here?” Thanatos says, his voice chillingly calm. “That the three of you have been trotting about the globe? Do you think I’m unaware of your plans? Let Lazarus go, and I’ll spare you all—for now.”

  Famine sighs, and for one second I think he’s making a show of this just so he can drag the blade across my neck and make the whole thing overly dramatic. But then he removes the blade altogether and shoves me forward.

  I stumble just as Thanatos strides forward and catches me. The horseman brushes the hair back from my face.

  “Are you okay?” he says softly, ignoring his brother altogether. I look up at his depthless eyes, eyes that are peering at me with concern, as though he hasn’t deliberately and violently ended my life several times.

  I nod, more rattled than I thought I was. Now that I’m not about to immediately die, I relax in his arms. Death, too, seems to relax, and I have so many conflicting feelings about that.

  His gaze moves to Famine, and I can see dark promise in his expression.

  “You are going to regret this,” Thanatos says, his voice feather light but filled with menace.

  “Am I now?” the Reaper says, raising his eyebrows. He still appears to be enjoying himself.

  Thanatos releases me, moving forward to confront his brother.

  “Last I saw of you, coward, you were fleeing from me,” Death says, beginning to circle the Reaper. “Tell me, how is Ana?”

  Ana?

  My eyes widen when I connect the dots. This Ana must be the woman Famine loves—the one he wants to give up humanity for.

  The Reaper begins to move as well, the two men circling one another.

  “When was the last time you talked to her?” Thanatos presses.

  Now Famine isn’t gloating. He isn’t smiling either.

  His upper lip curls. “If you dare—”

  “If I dare?” Death says imperiously, his eyes blazing. “You are the one who has dared much. You were supposed to help me. Instead you dragged our brothers out of their dull, mortal lives and forced their aging bodies to go up against me.

  “Aw,” Famine pretends to pout, “you still think the world is fair?”

  Death smiles. The sight of it gives me chills. “No, I finally see it for what it is. It’s you who seem to still cling to this idea of fairness, or have you forgotten my reach, brother? Your dear Ana is never safe.”

  At those words, the Reaper lunges, swinging his scythe faster than my eyes can follow.

  Who decided fighting inside this cramped space was a good idea?

  Oh, right, that psycho Famine, who apparently makes many, many awful decisions.

  Death steps back, dodging the blade with an ease he should not be feeling.

  Quick as lightning, Thanatos lunges forward, grabbing the hilt of the Reaper’s sheathed sword. He withdraws the blade, and then the two of them are swinging their weapons.

  The scythe and the sword lock, the metal grinding together.

  I watch them carefully as I edge my way around them and towards the door.

  “Tying your girl up was a nice touch, Thanatos,” Famine says, leaning his weight into his scythe. “But I hope you don’t think you’re special. That’s the one kink we’ve all done.” Famine smiles slyly at his brother as I skirt around them, moving slow enough to not draw attention to myself. “And I must say, hypocrisy looks great on you.”

  With a zing, their blades slide apart.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to get hurt again,” Thanatos says.

  Famine spins his scythe and he looks like he has the upper hand when, out of nowhere, Thanatos lunges forward. I don’t even see him swing his sword, it happens that fast. In one fell stroke Death cleaves off Famine’s arm.

  I bite back my scream as the horseman’s severed appendage flops onto the ground.

  Jesus.

  Famine bellows, and then he’s on his brother in an instant.

  Swords c
lash and blood sprays.

  The earth beneath us bucks violently, throwing me to the ground. Outside, I see the sky flash as rain continues to pelt down from the heavens.

  The floorboards beneath me groan ominously. Seconds later, they begin to splinter apart, and mutant plants rise from the ground, growing by the second. Just as quickly, they die, but more are coming and the earth is shaking, and I swear I hear the distant boom of thunder.

  My eyes return to Death. His cheekbones seem as sharp as blades, his wings tense behind him. He looks unearthly and he moves with supernatural speed. I have fought this man many times, and never did it look like this. Only now am I seeing the truth.

  He went easy on me.

  “You hit like a pussy, brother,” the Reaper says. His face, however, is pinched with pain.

  “Still can’t control your emotions or the weather, can you, Famine?”

  They goad each other as they chop one another up.

  I think they’ve forgotten almost entirely about me.

  Now’s your chance, Lazarus.

  For a second, I hesitate.

  The three horsemen wanted my help, and Lord knows it would feel good to make Thanatos pay for abducting me. But Famine was this close to killing me. All so that he could act on some personal vendetta.

  Fucker can fight this battle on his own.

  I crawl across the room as the house continues to groan and crack, and I’m sure that at any moment Death is going to notice me.

  But the fighting doesn’t stop. I creep across the open doorway and ever so silently rise to my feet.

  Outside, the wind howls as it whips my hair and rain pounds against my skin. In the short time these two horsemen have been fighting, vines have grown up and around much of the house. The building is splintering apart as even more plants force their way out of the ground and up through the frame of the house.

  I hurry down the front yard, skirting around the rusted junk as lightning slices through the sky. A memory of Death’s skeletal features flash behind my eyes.

  Got to get away.

  I nearly trip over a scattered pile of supplies. Fruit, bread, jugs of water, blankets and more, all of it getting sodden out here in the storm. It wasn’t here when I exited the house an hour earlier.

  Death hadn’t left me to kill some town. He’d left to bring me supplies. I mean, he probably did kill the town he got them from, but that’s kind of a given with him.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at it all.

  Behind me, I hear Famine bellow and the house shriek as beams break in earnest. Death’s velvety voice drifts out, and whatever he’s saying, it isn’t English. The sound of it raises the hair on my arms.

  My gaze moves up to the opening in the thicket.

  Run girl run.

  And that’s exactly what I do. I flee for my life.

  Chapter 28

  Pleasanton, Texas

  January, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  I run for miles and miles, my wet clothing sticking to my skin. Every square inch of me is wet, from the top of my head to the bottom of my icy feet. With every pounding footfall, water squishes between my toes.

  My breath is ragged, and the cold air is burning my lungs with every breath I take. The rain seems to follow me the entire time.

  Get away. Get away. Get away.

  That’s the only thought that echoes in my mind. Away from all the horsemen and their violence.

  My legs have nearly given out when I stumble into Pleasanton’s city center. It’s a hiccup of a place. Blink and you’d miss it. But the dead lay scattered like freshly fallen snow, and my skin pricks like it can feel Death’s power even now.

  I slow to a walk, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth as I pick my way through the streets, ignoring the rain still battering against me.

  Now that I’ve burned through my adrenaline, exhaustion is setting in. I don’t know how I made it this far. I’m beyond hungry and thirsty and everything hurts. I glance around me, noticing the houses that line the street.

  I need to grab some supplies and find a place to eat and rest in. For whatever reason, the buildings here have been left standing, but I fear that if Death comes looking for me, he’ll start obliterating them one by one. I don’t want to be inside when he does that.

  The idea, however, of camping out in some wet field makes me want to weep.

  …. aaaah … aaahwahwahwahaaaa …

  I freeze at the distant sound. What is that? It’s impossible to make out over the wind and rain—hell, maybe it is the wind and rain.

  I begin to walk again, trying to decide which house to break into.

  … waaaah … ahahah … waaaaah …

  I pause again.

  That’s not the weather.

  Is it an animal? Perhaps some creature got trapped and is now crying out for help. But there’s something about that sound, something that sets my teeth on edge. A sick feeling pools in my belly.

  I find myself moving towards the noise, drawn in despite my own pressing needs.

  … wahwahwah … WHAAAAAA!

  Oh dear God.

  I forget about the horseman and about food and water and the rain battering down on me.

  That’s a baby.

  Someone else has survived Death.

  Chapter 29

  Pleasanton, Texas

  January, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  I run towards the noise. It’s impossible. No one besides me survives Death.

  The crying gets louder the closer I get to an olive green house. I run up the driveway, onto the porch, and grab the handle—

  Locked.

  Shit.

  WAHWAHWAAAAAA!

  Dear God dear God dear God. I grab one of the wrought iron café chairs sitting on the porch and drag it to a window.

  Hefting it up, I slam it into the glass. It takes two tries, but I shatter the window. Kicking the remaining glass shards away, I step into the house.

  AAAAAAHWAHWAHWAH!

  I sprint across the living room I entered and down the hall, barely noticing the corpse I vault over. I make it to a room—a nursery—and there, sitting in a crib, is a crying baby.

  My legs nearly give out at the sight.

  I rush over to the crib, lifting the baby out. There’s vomit on the child and they’re trembling badly in my arms.

  “Ssh, ssh,” I say, holding the baby close.

  The infant is still wailing, its voice hoarse from crying for so long. Its tiny hands fist into my clothes.

  My God, this child survived a horseman.

  Just like me.

  I’m shell-shocked at the thought, and for a moment, all I can do is shush the baby and stare. But the child’s still shaking and how long have they been trapped in that crib? The thought is too horrifying to ponder.

  I storm the house, looking for milk. I have to swallow back a sob as I pass the body I leapt over just a minute ago. The woman’s long auburn hair is fanned out around her like a halo; that must be the child’s mother.

  I’ve passed countless bodies over the past six months and gotten used to the sight of them. But now my own history overlays this moment, and I have to breathe in through my nose to stop a few careless sobs from slipping out.

  When I enter the kitchen, I make a beeline for the icebox. Inside are several pre-filled bottles of milk. Thank God. Grabbing one of them, I bring it to the child’s lips.

  The baby drinks greedily, gulping down the milk. And now, I begin to cry. This child will never grow up in this house and will never know the woman lying in it.

  But they will live. That I swear.

  Thanatos will be coming for me.

  If he finds me, the child will die. That’s just how Death is.

  Maybe this baby is impervious to death. That thought fills me with such strange, conflicting emotions. I stare at the baby for the hundredth time, trying to untangle the mess of my mind. Unending life is a gift and a curse wrapped up in one.

  Despite al
l signs indicating this baby can survive Death, I shouldn’t assume they’re beyond his reach.

  I move through the home, one hand holding the baby while the other gathers all the necessities the two of us might need. The child refuses to let me go.

  I feel vaguely sick. Too much adrenaline and exhaustion and too little sustenance and rest.

  Please don’t pass out. Please don’t pass out.

  I have to force myself to stop and drink the water I find in a nearby pitcher, and I shove some leftover food from the icebox into my mouth as quickly as I can.

  I find a backpack and begin adding in diapers and baby clothes, empty bottles and some jars of mashed food. I even manage to tie a teddy bear I found in the crib to the outside of the bag.

  Every single second that passes feels like a knife to the chest. At any moment the house could fall or the dead could rise. I am working on borrowed time.

  I do one last pass through. I stop in the nursery, my gaze sweeping over the room to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I’ve been so consumed by this child’s survival that it’s only now that I notice the three wooden letters hanging on the wall.

  B-E-N.

  I bite back another sob.

  I look down at the baby, who’s staring at me, his eyes still puffy.

  “Hello, Ben,” I say, my voice wavering only a little. “I’m Lazarus.”

  I can’t pass along much to this child that his parents once gave him, but at least he will get to keep his name and know it was the one his parents chose for him.

  Ben continues to gaze at me, his lower lip jutting out.

  “We should get going,” I tell him. “There’s a bad man after me, and I don’t want him to find either of us.”

  I leave the nursery and head back through the living room. My eyes catch sight of a framed sketch hanging on the living room wall. In it, a man and a woman sit next to each other, an infant on the woman’s lap.

  On a whim, I break the frame and remove the sketch of Ben and his parents, folding it up and sliding it into the backpack.

  Move it, Lazarus. Time was up five minutes ago.

  The one final thing I need is a horse or a bike. If this family ever owned a horse—and it’s seriously unlikely, considering how small the lot is—it’s long gone. But a bike … they might still have a bike.