Page 86 of Famine

“Stop!” I beg the horseman.

Famine glances over at me, an angry glint in his eyes. “You I’ll deal with later.”

He faces the crowd of trapped guests, his attention eliciting another round of petrified screams. Everything about Famine in this moment is menacing—his body, his weapon, his expression.

Outside, lightening continues to flash and thunder continues to boom. Within seconds rain begins pattering on the corrugated iron roof, getting louder by the second.

Slowly the horseman stalks forward, making his way towards a large man with heavy jowls who’s bound up in a squat tree. I see the man struggle to get away, but it’s useless.

The horseman grasps the man’s face, his fingers digging into his cheeks. “Doyouwant me to stop?” the Reaper asks. I can barely hear him over the pounding rain and the shouts and sobs echoing through the room.

The man nods vigorously.

Famine studies him. “Hmmm … And what would you be willing to do to make me stop?” he asks.

The man squirms under his gaze. “I-I’ll doanything.”

“Will you now?” Famine says. The Reaper glances over at me and arches a brow, like this is some inside joke.

“Are you sure about that?” the Reaper presses, his attention returning to his victim.

The man is visibly sweating, but he manages a nod.

“Alright,” Famine says. “I’ll stop.”

The man looks relieved.

“But.”

I tense. Here it is, the barbed offer I’ve come to expect from the horseman.

“If you want me to save all these people,” Famine says. “I need something from you.”

Famine might be a divine creature, but right now, he sounds like the devil of old.

“Anything,” his captive says again.

“Your life for theirs,” the Reaper says.

My mouth goes dry. The horseman likes doing this—testing the limits of our humanity, all so that he can prove some point about how shitty humans really are.

The man pauses. There’s terror in his eyes. His gaze sweeps over the other people who are likewise caught in the grip of Famine’s lethal plants.

Before the man can respond, the tree that holds him fast now releases him. He stumbles forward, just barely managing to catch himself before he falls.

“Well?” the Reaper says. “On your knees then.” As he speaks, Famine spins his scythe again, the blade glinting in the candlelight.

The man is visibly shaking, his eyes locked on the Reaper’s blade. He doesn’t move to his knees.

Famine takes a step towards him, and the man bolts, heading for the guarded doorway.

“As I thought.”

In six quick strides, the horseman is upon him. The Reaper swings that mighty scythe of his, and in one sweeping stroke he beheads the man.

The room erupts in a fresh wave of screams, these ones louder and more desperate than ever.

My nausea rises as the man’s head hits the ground with a wet thud, and I nearly sick myself at the sight of his mouth opening and closing in shock.