For all my long-standing bitterness towards Pestilence, he’s the horseman who’s been the most compassionate towards me.
“It’ll be okay,” he promises. “I have three children, War has four, and Famine is overly protective of defenseless things,” he says. “Between the three of us, Ben will be safe, cared for, and—” He pulls away to look me in the eyes, “we really will love him as our own. You are family now, Lazarus.”
I choke up at that. My whole life revolved around my family, and how I’ve missed that sense of belonging. Pestilence is offering me something that I thought I’d lost forever. I don’t have words for how that makes me feel.
“I took your parents from you, Lazarus,” Pestilence continues, holding my gaze. “I can’t give their lives back to you, but I can give you this. You understand?”
Tears prick my eyes. I nod, my throat working.
“Thank you—Victor,” I say, my voice hoarse.
The horseman’s eyebrows rise for a moment, and then he gives me a genuine smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and lights up his entire face.
I hold Ben close. My son clings to me, eyeing the three very scary-looking men with open suspicion.
Oh God, I don’t want to do this.
“I love you, Ben,” I whisper, rubbing his small back. I hold him for a long minute.
I’m going to see you again soon, I tell myself. This won’t all be for nothing.
War comes over to us, crouching a little so that he can be eye-to-eye with Ben. My son glares at the horseman, his hands digging tighter into my clothes.
This is going really well.
“Ah, look at that ferocity. Pestilence and Famine don’t have half as much.” He points at Ben. “You have the trappings of a future general about you,” he says, and the way he says it makes me think this is supposed to be a compliment.
I grab the backpack filled with Ben’s things, and I hand it over to the horsemen. Pestilence steps forward to take it.
War reaches out for the boy, but Ben rears back a little.
“Move away brother,” Famine says, strolling over, carrying one of those pale purple flowers, “the kid has actual taste.”
The Reaper stops in front of us and stares down at the flower in his hand. After a moment, he holds it out to Ben.
Ben eyes Famine skeptically, then looks at the rose as though this is some sort of trick. Reluctantly, my son reaches for the flower.
Before he can grab it, Famine pulls it back just a little. “This is not actually yours,” the horseman clarifies, because he’s a natural-born dick, “but the woman it does belong to would want you to have it.”
He extends the flower out once more, and this time, there’s no hesitation on Ben’s part. He reaches out and grabs the thing, which, I notice, has been carefully de-thorned.
Once the flower is in Ben’s grasp, he makes quick work of ripping the petals apart.
Famine grimaces. “Humans are such heathens—even the miniature ones.”
“You’re just bitter Ana doesn’t want to be saddled with yours,” War says, thumping him on the back as he turns to his horse.
The Reaper glares after him but says nothing. After a moment, his attention returns to Ben, who has plucked most of the petals off the rose.
Famine handily takes Ben from my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Say bye to Lazarus,” the horseman says, but Ben couldn’t care less at the moment. His attention is still fixed on the sad remains of the rose.
My arms feel empty, and everything in me is screaming at the thought of separation.
“I love you, Ben,” I say, again, my voice breaking.
This is the biggest trust-fall into the universe.
As Famine walks off with Ben, I hear him say, “I can make you more flowers, but if you shit on me, deal’s off.”
“Famine,” Pestilence snaps after him.
“Relax, Grandpa,” Famine calls out over his shoulder, “Ben’s going to wait until he’s on your horse before he does anything funny.”
Pestilence rubs his temples. “He’ll be alright,” the horseman insists to me, dropping his hand.
I nod, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep my composure.
“Before you go,” Pestilence says. “I have something for you.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a piece of paper and holds it out to me. “This is the address our families are staying at. Our plan is to take Ben there, where my wife Sara and the others will take care of him.”
I take the paper from him and I stare down at the address. My heart hammers at how hopelessly far away it is. That’s a good thing, I remind myself, even though right now, all I notice is that it feels half a world away from me.
Then the rest of what he said catches up to me. “They will take care of him?” I ask. “What about you and the other horsemen?”
Pestilence’s face is grim. “We’re going to come back for you and Death.” His face darkens. “Hopefully by then, Thanatos will have changed his mind about his task, but if not …”
If not, then Pestilence and his brothers will have to stop him themselves. I don’t think that option will end well for any of them.
Pestilence looks off at the horizon behind me. “You need to go. We have to start riding to put as much distance between us and Death as possible.”
I nod, backing up. My eyes keep moving to Famine. He’s pulled himself onto his saddle, Ben in front of him. My tiny son is going to be riding on a horse.
Icy panic claws its way up my throat, and it takes an obscene amount of effort to force it back down.
Ben is still distracted from the fact that he’s no longer in my arms, and that’s thanks to the Reaper, who has grown a vine up his very patient horse’s leg.
A white flower unfurls right in front of Ben, and though the sight of it is unbelievable to my eyes, my son is unfazed, plucking the bloom immediately, then inspecting it with a serious expression before beginning to pick off its petals one by one.
Panic stirs inside me, and without thinking, I cross over to my son. Reaching up, I smooth a hand down his face. “I’ll see you again soon, Ben,” I promise. “Stay safe, my heart.”
My son looks at me and smiles; he holds out his mutilated flower and shows it off.
I press my lips together to keep from losing it, then back up several steps.
Famine turns to me, his eyes stony.
“Lazarus,” he says softly. “Don’t forget your end of the deal.” His words are laced with menace. “Suck him, fuck him, do whatever shit gets that brother of mine off, but remember that everything is resting on you now. Everything.”
Chapter 37
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
My apartment feels like a tomb. It hurts to look at the leftover diapers and clothing sitting in a pile on the floor—one of them the very diaper Ben was so recently playing with.
Perhaps what’s worse than seeing that pile is recognizing how pitifully small it is. Traveling often means traveling lightly, and most of my son’s things left with him.
Bending down to that pile, I grab a pair of socks that Ben has already outgrown. I tuck those into one of my pockets, pressing my lips together to stop myself from getting too emotional.
He’s alive, I remind myself. That’s more than Death or the doctors could give me.
I move into my bedroom and grab my blades, strapping them to my thighs. Do I intend to use them on the horseman? No. Would I regret sinking one into his belly if the opportunity arose? Also no.
All those months of trying to raise a baby while looking over my shoulder, of having to drop everything and flee, they’ve more than stoked my anger. Add to that the fact that Death intends to collect my son’s soul tonight, and yes, I’d relish an opportunity to fight this horseman.
Of course, anger is not the only emotion I feel towards Thanatos. I wish it were. That would make everything so much easier. Instead, I have to deal with this insid
ious desire that smolders within me. And then there’s the fact that Thanatos didn’t wipe out this town last night.
I head to my front door and step outside of my apartment.
“Thanatos!” I call, my gaze moving over the neighborhood.
I wait for some response—a prickling against my skin, a feeling of being watched, that damnable silence—but there’s nothing. If the horseman has been watching me, it seems he’s taken a break.
I reenter my apartment determined to not just sit here and wait for him. I’d much rather draw him out like venom from a wound. And if I orchestrate this right, I’ll even be able to give his three brothers a head start on their travels.
Striding back over to the kitchen I grab the pencil and notebook and scribble a message onto the piece of paper, my agitation making my writing severe.
If you want me, you’re going to have to catch me first.
—Lazarus
P.S. I’d suggest you start looking on the I-10 East.
Grabbing a kitchen knife, I head outside and impale that note against my front door.
Death and I are going to have one final game of cat and mouse.
I ride through the streets of Orange like a ghost, the sun setting in the west. My eyes move over the few people I see, all of them going about their day as though nothing is amiss. They have no idea that all four horsemen of the apocalypse have been in their city within the last twenty-four hours. Or that the very fate of humanity has been bartered for like fruit at a market.
As soon as I reach the edge of the city, I start to pedal faster and faster and faster, until my thighs burn and the wind is whistling in my ears.
I let out a sob. It’s an ugly, wild sound, but releasing my pain like that is cathartic, so I do it again—and again and again until I’m screaming my agony into the sky. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
At some point, I get it all out. All that’s left is this silence inside me.
I ride until my eyelids droop—which, if I’m being honest, is depressingly early in the evening. But I can feel the exhaustion seeping into every inch of me; I haven’t had proper rest—or a proper meal for that matter—in far too long.
I roll to a stop on a darkened stretch of highway. There’s nothing out here but a thick line of trees running alongside the road.
I get off my bike, then let it topple to the ground. It feels meaningful, leaving that bike behind. I’ve always needed one to run after—or away from—the horseman. But I won’t be needing it anymore.
I almost sleep alongside the road just to make it easier for the horseman to find me, but until Death kills everyone, there are still highwaymen to worry about. So instead, I drag myself past the line of trees and press on through soggy grass. I trudge towards the dark outline of a tree I notice in the distance. The ground is damp here, just as it is everywhere else.
I let out a sigh. At this point, I’m too tired to care. I lean my back against the tree trunk and close my eyes. It takes a few exhausted minutes, but eventually I fall asleep.
I wake to the thunderous sound of fleeing animals and the sensation of death creeping in. I sit up only to feel the slap of bugs against my face as swarms of them pass by. I duck as best I can. As I do so, rats and other rodents scurry by, many of them scrambling over me in their mad dash.
Overhead, I hear the cries of birds, and I see hundreds—no, thousands—of them backlit against the rising sun.
He’s found me.
Faster than I expected, too.
The animals pass by, and I’m the only one left behind.
A light breeze rustles the wild grass, but other than that, the world is deafeningly quiet. That silence grows and grows until I swear it will swallow me up whole.
I stand, stepping out from under the tree. My pants are damp, the chill of the morning clinging to them.
The wet earth squishes beneath my boots as I cut across the marshy grass.
The pound of wingbeats has me stopping.
I don’t realize that I’ve reached for one of my blades until it’s in my hand. My muscles remember what my mind’s forgotten—that I’m used to the sound of those wings preceding a fight. For so long that was the sound that heralded battle, pain, and—many times—death.
Now, however, I’m not sure what to expect.
I swivel towards the noise and I see him high in the sky. Death, God’s last angel. He circles overhead, looking for me. I stare up at him, transfixed at this heavenly creature.
As though he can feel my gaze, the horseman pauses in the air, his armor shining painfully bright as the morning rays hit it. His wings beat at his back as his gaze falls to me. I feel that look like a finger down my spine.
It feels good to end the fighting and suffering between us. It feels right even though I know it’s wrong.
Death lowers himself to the earth. He lands fifty feet away, looking just as ancient and tragically mythical as he always has.
His eyes scour me. “Lazarus,” he says, “you have been busy.”
My skin goes a little clammy. I don’t know how much he already knows about Ben.
Thanatos tilts his head. “Where is your son?” he says, as though reading my mind. “Surely a grieving mother wouldn’t leave her child behind.”
I lift my chin, even as guilt and anguish press down on my chest. I still haven’t forgiven myself for letting the horsemen take Ben.
A cruel smile curves up the side of Thanatos’s mouth, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, how I’ve longed to see that battle-hardened look of yours. My fierce kismet, what have you done with the soul I was to collect?”
“Does it matter?” I say. “It’s not him you want.”
Death’s eyes burn as they look at me. “Lazarus,” His voice is stripped of all pretense, “it was his time.”
My throat works. So the horseman does know my son still lives.
“Your brothers didn’t feel the same way,” I say. “They made me the deal that you would not.”
Thanatos is quiet for a long moment.
“What did they bargain for?” he eventually asks. He voice holds a note of—something. I can’t place what.
I’m quiet.
Death’s jaw clenches. “For all they claim to love humanity, they wouldn’t just save a child slated to die. What did they ask for?” he demands.
I gaze at him for a long moment, and then, very deliberately, I drop my blade.
“I give up,” I say. “I will go with you—wherever you want.”
For a long moment Thanatos just stares at me, and I swear those deep, dark eyes see everything. Eventually, that gaze fills with heated triumph.
Death takes a single step forward, then another, and another, his silver armor clinking with the movement.
He reaches a hand to his shoulder, and piece by piece he removes that armor as he cuts across the field. His gaze remains fixed on mine the entire time.
He casts the last of his metal trappings aside right as he steps up to me.
I gaze up at him, feeling both fearful and laid bare.
He cups my cheek. “I’ve searched for you for a very long time,” Death says, his voice lethally soft. His eyes blaze. “I don’t intend to let you go.”
I swallow.
Cannot believe I’m doing this.
His gaze drops to my lips, just as they have many times before. But now he leans down, his mouth a hairsbreadth from mine.
“Now’s your last chance to run, Lazarus.”
I don’t run. I don’t retreat at all, my gaze transfixed to those expressive lips of his.
His eyes flick to mine and for the briefest of moments he smiles, looking both victorious and wicked. Then his mouth claims mine.
The shock of his kiss has me stumbling back, but Thanatos’s arm is there, first steadying me, then drawing me as close to him as he can, his fingers pressing into the small of my back.
His mouth moves against mine, and though I’ve kissed a dozen men and Death has like
ly kissed no one at all, the two of us feel evenly matched, his fire pitted against mine.
That’s about the moment I realize I am, in fact, kissing him back. I’m angry and terrified and lost, and my lips are doing battle with his more than anything else. But still. I am kissing him.
He smiles against my mouth, like he’s collecting this little victory, too. I feel that grin straight to my core.
Death bends just the slightest bit, so he can slip his arm behind my knees. A moment later he scoops me up, cradling my body against his.
I don’t see his wings spread wide, but I do feel his arms tighten around me.
And then Thanatos makes good on his long-held threat.
He takes me away.
Part II
Chapter 38
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I grip Thanatos tightly as we rise higher and higher, my heart hammering in my chest.
I’ve given up and given in, and yet I still can’t banish the dread at being in Death’s arms. Everything about him was made to end lives, and this close to him I can feel the wrongness of my continued existence.
Not to mention that the last time he held me like this, he dropped me. And okay, that only happened after I stabbed him, but still, the thought seizes me up.
“You’re not going to let me fall again, are you?” I ask, my voice hushed.
His mouth brushes my ear, his breath warm and his voice low like a lover’s when he says, “Not on my life, Lazarus. That is behind us.”
Does he realize there’s sex in his voice? His words practically drip with it, and my body seems to awaken—my stomach fluttering and my core heating.
We fly for hours, my body clasped tight in Death’s arms. I assumed that even this all-powerful horseman would get fatigued trying to stay airborne while holding a full-grown woman, but I should’ve known better. The being that can kill off a city’s population in an instant is more than capable of whisking away one measly human.
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