Page 124 of Famine

Famine only stops walking once we pass under the archway and re-enter the estate. He stands still under the deep blue sky, watching what appears to be a horsedrawn wagon as it approaches. He glances over his shoulder at me, then beckons me to his side.

“Why are we doing this again?” I ask.

“Calm your tits, Ana,” the horseman says, using my words against me. “This is the fun part.”

My stomach flips at that. Famine’s idea of fun inevitably involves blood and pain.

In the dark light of morning, I can just make out that there are two men driving the cart, though by the sounds of it, more are sitting in the cart’s bed.

“What is that?” I hear one of the men say.

“Get ready,” Famine says as the cart closes in on us.

He doesn’t give any other indication that something’s about to happen. But then I feel it—the barest tremble beneath my feet.

A split second later, the ground splits open with a groan. Ahead of us, the wooden cart creaks as the horseman’s plants grow beneath it, forcing it to tilt, then topple on its side. The men shout as they’re thrown over. Only the horse manages to somehow stay on its feet.

Overhead, the dark sky seems to churn as thick clouds gather.

The Reaper walks around, towards the back of the cart, whistling a tune as he goes.

Several of the men are already pulling themselves to their feet.

“What the devil?” someone says.

“Not the devil,” Famine says, “the Reaper.”

And then he begins to kill.

The horseman brings his scythe down on man after man, whistling the entire time. A few of them are able to flee the cart, dashing in every direction.

One of those directions just happens to be my way.

I assume that the man is heading for the estate’s exit, but the closer he gets the more I realize that he’s headed straight forme.

Dropping the horseman’s scales, I turn on my heel and take off, sprinting for the archway.

I’ve only made it a few meters, however, before the man collides against my back, tackling me to the ground. Desperately I try to drag myself away.

Before I can, a rough hand flips me over. I’ve barely looked up at his shadowed face when his hands go around my throat, and he begins to squeeze.

“I’ll kill her!” the man shouts over his shoulder. “I’ll do it if you don’t let us go.”

The whistling stops.

I’m choking, and all I want to do is pry the man’s fingers off my throat, butI have a knife in my boot.

My leg is half-pinned under the man and I only manage to bring it partway towards me before he leans his weight on the leg, but partway is enough.

I grope around for the hilt, even as my vision starts to cloud. My fingers find it then, and I withdraw the blade, nicking myself in the process.

Without hesitation, I slam the knife into his side.

The man cries out, his hold loosening. I’m able to draw in a large lungful of air, but then his hands are clamping around my neck once more.

Withdrawing the blade, I stab at him again.

He grunts, but holds me fast.