He spreads his arms out. “Come for me, brothers—come for me if you dare!” he challenges.
At his words, several buildings explode around us. Glass and wood, drywall burst like fireworks before raining back down to earth. All the while, Death looks like the dark angel he is.
The wind whips about, lashing my hair against my face.
“Thanatos, please, stop!”
He ignores me.
I turn then and rush back to the other horsemen, who are all grimly reaching for their weapons, preparing for battle.
“Do you know how to stop him?” I ask them when I reach their side.
War glances up at me from where he’s strapping a leather harness filled with blades across his chest.
“You mean, is there a way to strip him of his powers?” War says. He gives his head a shake, his eyes blazing as he studies his airborne brother. “Nothing can do that except God or Death himself.”
Well, fuck.
Death
I can feel Lazarus’s life burning like a flame as my power whips out. Her spirit doesn’t feel like Pestilence’s or War’s—those two are mortal, their souls easy offerings. I spare their lives only because, willing or not, they will see this to the bitter end. Famine’s spirit is a bit trickier. He’s still immortal, but it would be short work to strip him of his mortality, if I so desired. And from there, I could claim his soul as well.
Lazarus, however, her unending life is still beyond my reach, and though I would not take it regardless, I am absurdly grateful that the choice has been lifted from me.
It was always meant to be this way. That’s clear enough.
After it is all over, I will make Lazarus see that it had to be this way, and I will win her love back. Because, unlike everyone else, she and I have all the time in the world.
Lazarus
I stare up at Death.
War’s gaze follows my own. “Every minute that passes is another mile of death he’s spread,” he says solemnly.
My heart bottoms out, and I imagine that all of us—Pestilence, War, Famine, and myself—are doing the math.
Just how many miles lie between here and Vancouver Island? How much time do we have until Death destroys the humans we care about above all others?
Pestilence removes bundles of arrows from one of Famine’s saddle bags, setting them near his feet. He pulls another arrow from his quiver and nocks it while Famine spins his scythe as though he’s loosening up his wrist.
A warm hand falls on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. I glance over at War, just as the massive horseman withdraws a massive dagger from one of the sheathes criss-crossing his chest. He presses it into my hand, his red glyphs glittering against his knuckles.
“We’re not dying without a fight,” he says, his voice low. His eyes, however, dance with dark excitement. The angel of war practically thirsts for this. “And no matter how deathless you may be, you need a weapon. Ready yourself.”
Ready myself? For what?
My hand closes over the hilt of the dagger just as Pestilence raises his bow toward the sky. He pauses only for an instant, then shoots.
The arrow arcs high into the sky. For a second, I think that it’s going to hit Death, but a gust of wind blows it off course.
Thanatos doesn’t so much as look our way, though in the distance, I hear a thunderous groan, and then another building is falling—
BOOM!
The ground beneath us shudders.
Not missing a beat, Pestilence nocks another arrow, then releases it.
Again, a gust of wind blows it aside.
Pestilence releases an arrow then, adjusting his aim, fires another shot to the left of the horseman.
When Death’s wind blows the first arrow aside, it propels the second arrow on course. The projectile skims by Thanatos, slicing the outer edge of his leg.
Death falters in the sky, then rises higher. As I stare up at him, the clouds begin to gather, looking like mottled bruises.
“He’s moved out of range,” Pestilence says. “I won’t be able to hit him, unless …” Pestilence scans the horizon. All around us are buildings.
Crumbling buildings.
Pestilence’s eyes settle on one in particular. I follow his gaze. An abandoned high rise sits just off to our right. The structure looks as though it is already halfway to the grave, the thing leaning precariously.
“I can get him from there,” he says, nodding to it.
“Brother, he’s destroying the buildings as we speak,” War argues.
As if to punctuate the thought, a nearby church collapses, its spires disappearing into the rising plume of dust.
But already Pestilence is jogging towards the boarded up structure.
“Fucking fool,” Famine mutters, but it’s Death the Reaper flashes his lethal look to. “Let me give this bastard try,” he says, malevolence lacing his voice.
A strong wind kicks up, but as soon as it comes, Death seems to counter it with one of his own.
“Going to have to do better than that, brother,” War says, flipping his sword over and over in his palm, clearly impatient to do something.
“Calm your tits for a fucking moment, will you?” Famine says. As he speaks, a drop of rain drips onto my head.
The Reaper raises his arm, and a bolt of lightning spears directly into Death. I gasp at the sight. For a single instant, I see a winged skeleton and not my horseman.
Thanatos’s wingbeats falter, and I tense, waiting for him to collapse out of the sky. He falls several feet, then rights himself.
His wings spread wide once more, and he looks … unharmed.
“That’s better?” War scoffs.
“That should’ve worked!” Famine says.
“Your power is his power too, and he’s immune to the effects of it.”
Death turns his attention briefly to Famine, his eyes unfocused as though he’s not really seeing his brother.
An instant later, another lightning bolt slices through the sky, slamming into the Reaper.
THA-BOOM!
Swallowing my scream, I stumble back as the blinding light blasts Famine ten feet away. He lays on the asphalt, unmoving.
So much for being immune to your own power …
“He will be fine,” War reassures me. To the Reaper he calls out, “Get up, brother! You have more war to wage.”
Famine groans. A moment later, he rolls to his side, then pushes himself up. He sways a little, his feet unsteady.
A sound like thunder roars all around us.
The Reaper frowns as he comes over to War and me. “That’s not my storm.”
“No,” War says darkly, “That would be mine.”
I glance over at the horseman. “What do you mean, yours?” I ask uneasily. “I thought your powers were stripped from you.”
As I speak, the ground quakes violently, nearly throwing me off my feet.
Famine catches me by the arm, meeting my eyes as he rights me. He gives a single, solemn nod. Asshole or not, the two of us are in this together.
War glares up at Death, who looks as untouchable as ever.
“You dare to turn my old allies against me, brother?” War bellows at the sky.
Thanatos doesn’t so much as glance down, his expression remote.
To me, War says, “You better get ready with that knife. We’re about to have a lot of company.”
“A lot of company?” I echo, turning back to our surroundings, “But there’s no one …” Alive.
There is, however, a city full of corpses.
The trembling ground grows more and more intense. As it shakes, several buildings in the distance collapse.
“Pestilence!” Famine shouts, “Get your ass out of that building!”
Pestilence, however, is nowhere in sight, and if he heard the Reaper, he isn’t listening to him.
Along the highway, a nearby corpse picks herself up. I spin, only to see more rise from behind us. The more I look, the more I see—in the buil
dings, on the streets that line the highway. The dead reanimate, their rotting faces fixed on the group of us.
For a second, all they do is stare blankly. Then, as one, they begin to run at us.
Chapter 72
Los Angeles, California
October, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Judgement Day is happening—in the City of Angels, no less.
I tighten my grip on the dagger as the dead charge towards us. A few minutes ago, the weapon had seemed excessive. Now, it feels like it won’t be enough.
I count our opponents—one-two-three, five-eight-ten-twelve-fifteen. And more keep coming.
“Get ready,” War says as the corpses close in on the three of us.
I tense, raising my weapon. The Reaper spins his scythe one last time, the blade making an ominous chopping sound as it slices through air.
And then the dead are on us.
The revenants go for War and Famine, their teeth bared. They’re so much worse than the corpses that came for me back in San Antonio, when Thanatos had first tried to capture me. Those ones had been dead for minutes. These creatures, however, are pure putridness, their skin mottled and sagging and decayed—or eaten—away in places.
And the smell. What little I ate this morning comes up.
The revenants ignore me as I sick myself, which is fortunate for me. Otherwise, I’d probably be missing an appendage or two. Instead they move around me, their viciousness focused entirely on Death’s brothers.
War laughs like a maniac as they come at him. He slices through the mass of dead bodies, congealed blood and other bits going flying as he takes off their arms or slices them below the legs.
I join in then, despite everything in me recoiling at the sight and smell of the revenants. I pry one away from Famine, kicking the woman in the chest.
Her body makes a sickening sound as it hits the ground, and I grimace. I swipe at another.
“Aim for their legs and arms,” War commands the rest of us. “The goal is to render them useless; there will be no killing them.”
I glance over at the massive horseman just as he swings his sword like a baseball bat, cutting through a line of opponents. I avoid looking at them as they fall apart.
This is the sickest situation I have ever been in.
War meets my gaze. He nods to my blade. “That one can cut through bone, though I’d aim for joints,” he says conversationally, even as a revenant jumps on his back. He grabs the creature by the neck and tosses it off of him and into more approaching undead, knocking the group of them over.
“Think of it like you’re carving a turkey,” War continues as, on my other side, Famine swings his scythe around his body, mowing down the dead encircling him.
I flash War a horrified look, even as I swipe my blade at the shoulder of a nearby revenant. “I’m never eating meat again.”
War flashes me a ferocious grin, then turns his attention back to his attackers.
I do aim for the joints, cutting through shoulders and wrists and elbows, the rotted flesh falling apart beneath my blade, their blood and other unmentionable juices getting on me.
These are not people, these are not people, I have to remind myself.
The dead keep coming, even as mounds of writhing, broken bodies pile up around us.
Across the way, I catch sight of Pestilence on the roof of the building he’d eyed earlier. There are only a few revenants on the roof, and as I look, I see the horseman kick an undead man off the side of the structure, the corpse’s body pin-wheeling as it falls. But even as I watch, more dead are climbing up the walls. They’re not getting very far before their grip gives out and they plummet back to the ground, but more are moving within the building.
Near me, Famine drops his scythe, scowling as his eyes take in the hordes of dead swarming the highway as they rush towards us. The Reaper moves his hands as though scooping magic from the air, his fingers splayed. His arms shake with the effort.
From deep beneath us, the earth shudders.
Asphalt and concrete cracks as massive, twisting plants rise from the ground. Vines and branches snatch the undead as they run by, coiling around the corpses like snakes. I can hear the sick sound of hundreds of bones breaking. More unnerving yet is that there are no screams of pain. The dead make no noise at all as their bodies are crushed.
To my right, the building Pestilence is on groans.
“Brother!” Famine shouts with more emotion than I thought he was capable of.
Before he can say more, a portion of the high rise collapses. Corpses fall with the rubble, and at the very top of the structure, I see Pestilence lunge for the edge of the roof as the floor falls away.
Famine throws out a hand, and a line of twisting vines sprout from where we stand all the way to the base of the building, rising and weaving themselves together to make a bridge of sorts. On the other end of this makeshift bridge, a thick, vined monstrosity slithers its way up the building’s walls. Halfway to the top, it slows.
“I can’t make it any bigger!” Famine shouts. I doubt Pestilence can hear him, but it’s clear enough that this is the limit of the Reaper’s help.
Pestilence pulls himself to his feet and, slinging his bow across his chest, he moves directly above where Famine’s ropy bridge of vines has attached itself to the plant growing up the building’s walls. The high rise groans again, and then the rest of the structure begins to collapse.
I suck in my scream as Pestilence leaps, his body plummeting towards the earth. Before he can hit the ground, Famine’s plants reach out and catch the horseman. The foliage rustles as it deposits him onto the far edge of the bridge.
It takes Pestilence a moment to get his bearings, but once he has them, he moves across the ropy bridge with surprising agility. He steps off of it, giving Famine a nod.
“Thanks brother,” Pestilence says, lifting his bow off of his chest.
“Just doing my job,” Famine says. “Ana tells me we must take care of our elderly.”
The Reaper seriously does not know how to handle gratitude.
But Pestilence guffaws and claps him on the back. “I hope you get the chance to experience it too, brother.”
Famine’s expression grows serious. “I will.”
Now that the horsemen are all safe and accounted for, we take in the carnage around us. Hundreds—if not thousands—of corpses are wriggling around, either caught in Famine’s plants, or lying in piles. One decaying hand latches onto War’s ankle. The horseman punts the appendage clear across the highway, the thing smacking into the face of a trapped revenant.
In the distance, I can see more undead scaling the foliage, and while the plants make quick work of these new corpses, there’s no way they’ll be able to hold off the horde for long.
The Reaper grimaces at the bodies. “They smell … like shit,”
“They’re corpses,” Pestilence says, digging through the dead. From beneath them, he grabs one of the bundles of arrows he had set aside earlier. “Did you expect them to smell like your precious purple roses you like to rub all over yourself when you think no one is watching?”
In response, a bush near the horseman opens, releasing a mostly pulverized revenant. The creature lunges for Pestilence.
“Whoops,” Famine says.
Cursing under his breath, Pestilence drops his weapons just as the creature collides with him. Grabbing it with both hands, Pestilence tosses the undead over his shoulder, aiming the body right at the Reaper.
The corpse crashes into Famine, nearly knocking him off his feet. The Reaper begins to swear when War steps up and swings his sword, cutting the undead off at the knees.
In the sky, Thanatos falters. He looks downwards at the sight before him. If he notices me at all, he makes no sign of it.
Instead, all around us, the plants Famine had grown wither away. They don’t release the trapped revenants, but then they don’t need to. Hundreds more are already climbing past the wall of plants.
“Sh
it,” the Reaper curses. The ground trembles as more plants push through.
While Famine’s focusing on regrowing our defenses, the bodies around us begin to vibrate.
“Pestilence, Lazarus, Famine,” War calls, “ready yourselves.”
My gaze sweeps over the dead just as piles of severed body parts rejoin, corpses fitting themselves back together as though they were never cut apart. I’ve seen this before with Death’s servants, when it seemed as though magic and nothing more stitched their forms together. But never have I seen it with fleshy bodies.
The severed appendages don’t physically reattach; instead magic seems to hold them in place. Within seconds, legions of dead are whole again. Teenagers, adults, children and the elderly. All of them stare at us through rotted eyes.
Then, as one, they attack.
I kick out at the previously severed arm of a nearby revenant. My boot meets resistance, but then, not a second later, the appendage falls away. I wait for it to reattach itself. Instead it gropes around on the ground.
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.
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 39