Page 102 of Famine

That’s all the warning I get.

A bolt of lightning streaks down from the heavens right in front of us and—

BOOM!

I scream at the deafening sound as the lightning strikes the wrought iron archway. The barred doors beneath blast open with a metallic shriek, shards of wood splintering off in all directions. The displayed bodies are blasted from the wall as well, disembodied limbs flying in all directions.

In the distance, I hear panicked shouting.

“Ah, much better,” Famine says, a smile in his voice.

He clicks his tongue and his horse starts up again, walking over the smoking remains of the gate.

A long, palm-lined driveway cuts between fields of marijuana plants, leading up to an expansive mansion. Between here and there, people are yelling out orders. Several men are running towards the gate before stumbling to a stop when they see us.

I can see them processing the scene before them—the felled gates, the rider, the scythe, the horse …

All at once they reach for their weapons.

The Reaper wastes no time dispatching them, his plants rising from the ground and twisting themselves around the men until bones break and blood flows. And then we’re riding over these men too, and I have to physically stop myself from retching again at the wet sounds of flesh being crushed beneath hooves.

We travel the rest of the way like that, with a carpet of flesh lining our way. There are a seemingly endless amount of men, and for all of the horseman’s power, I’m nervous about the cartel boss we’re squaring off with.

We head up the circular driveway, my gaze taking in the palatial home in front of me. Men are moving to defend the house, bows nocked and at the ready.

An arrow hisses by, then another. I lock eyes on an arrow headed straight for me—

Quick as lightning, Famine reaches out and catches the projectile, the point centimeters from my breast.

The Reaper makes a sound deep in his chest. “That was the wrong thing to do.”

Beneath us, the ground rumbles, splitting wide open. Thick, fast growing plants burst from a dozen different places, ensnaring whoever they manage to get ahold of.

Amongst the panicked cries, someone begins to clap. I glance towards the sound. An older man, his hair heavily streaked with white, is among the men caught in Famine’s snares. He doesn’t, however, look concerned about his predicament.

“I am not easily impressed,” the man says, looking first at me, then at the Reaper, “but you, my friend, have impressed me.”

This must be the home’s owner. I can’t imagine what sort of man he is if he can take in all this carnage and not be afraid.

“How is he still talking?” I whisper to Famine. The horseman is more of akill first, ask questions latertype of guy.

“I’m letting him,” the Reaper replies smoothly.

“I’ll admit,” the man continues, sizing me up, “I assumed you’d have smaller tits.”

Behind me, the Reaper snorts. Smoothly he dismounts, crossing the cobblestone driveway towards the ensnared man. Famine’s scythe is strapped to his back, an open warning about who he is and the sort of violence he can wreak.

If, you know, the dead crops, the toppled wall, and the bloody bodies weren’t warning enough.

“Insulting me is not going to do you any good,” Famine says, casually removing his scythe from its holster as he strides towards the man.

“So you’re going to kill me?” the man says.

“No,” the Reaper says, “I’m going to torment you,thenI’m going to kill you.”

The older man sizes him up. All at once, he laughs. “You’re bad for business, Reaper, but you would make a damn fine lieutenant. If the situation were different, I might’ve even tried to hire you myself.”

“You killed my men,” Famine jerks his head behind him, towards the remains of the gate. “Not to mention that your men tried to killher.” I hear the icy chill of the Reaper’s anger as he jerks his head towards me. “So fuck your compliments and fuck your opinions.”