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“Never imagined they’d be this soft,” he murmurs. He’s looking at my breasts like he’s a thirteen year old discovering his father’s skin mags for the first time.

On what seems like a whim, he leans forward and takes one peak into his mouth. A shocked gasp slips out of me at the sensation. The tip of his cock brushes against me, and it feels rock hard. All sorts of illicit thoughts cross my mind.

What would it be like to have all of this pressed down on me? I’m almost mindless with the need to find out. The two of us are playing a dangerous game. Scratch that,I’mplaying a dangerous game. Pestilence probably isn’t even aware there’s a game being played.

Take it slow, if not for your sake, then for his.

His hands are beginning to drift down when I pull away, moving back to my end of the tub. His expression still smolders, and he appears to be debating whether to prowl after me or not.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, fully aware that I’m giving this guy mixed signals. “Not here, anyway,” I add, like this place is somehow sacrosanct when a minute ago I gave zero fucks.

“What care do the dead have?” Pestilence says. “They are beyond these things.”

Good point.

Still, there’s no rush.

I pick up Pestilence’s hand and press his knuckles to my cheek. Some of the fevered want in his eyes softens. He tugs on my hand and pulls me to him, but rather than continuing our little tryst, he simply holds me close. Somehow, despite what we were doing seconds ago, the embrace manages to be affectionate, loving.

It’s hard for him too, I remember.He still has this task, but he understands the horror of it, and now, the loss.

And yet, he’s giving me comfort. I lean into him and I let him hold me. He cradles my head to him, and I feel him brush a kiss along my hairline. I didn’t even know this was what I wanted the entire time, but it is.

“Be at ease, Sara.”

And the terrible truth is that, in his arms, I am.

Chapter 36

By the timewe leave Ruth and Rob’s house, there’s a stillness to the surrounding neighborhoods and a faint scent in the air. This is death settling in for a long stay. It’s unnerving as fucking hell.

It rains as we ride out—which really isn’t all that surprising considering that we’re traveling along the Pacific Northwest, the birthplace of the rainstorm.

When the horseman and I are alone, we can pretend away each other’s faults. He can be my dashing, noble knight, and I can be his strange companion, but once we’re on open road where it’s impossible to ignore signs of the apocalypse, we both remember how things really are.

For the millionth time I hope my parents are alright. I’ve resigned myself to the reality that I’ll never see them again, but now, after watching Ruth and Rob die, I’m more aware than ever that my mom and dad could’ve endured the same fate. And that possibility utterly terrifies me, so I choose instead to hope they escaped the Fever unscathed.

Pestilence drives Trixie Skillz at a gallop, forcing the tireless horse to race kilometers on end. That’s how we enter Seattle proper—with houses and streetlamps, newly abandoned stables and long dead storefronts all whizzing by in a blur.

I appreciate the speed. Most of my focus is on remaining on the horse, rather than what sort of nasty welcome is waiting for us in one of the U.S’s big cities. Yet, despite the distraction, I can’t fool my body into relaxing. My muscles are locked up to the point of pain, and my limbs shake—both from the dreadful chill and from my mounting anxiety.

The longer the two of us go without something—anything—happening, the more apprehensive I become. There’s not a soul in sight. Not a single, frightened soul.

It’s not until the squat, rundown buildings and defunct shopping centers give way to the taller, decaying skyscrapers that I realize this is unusual. Really, really unusual. Evacuated cities are livelier than this, especially when they’re this big. You’re bound to run intosomeone.

“Where is everybody?” I ask.

Probably waiting to ambush your ass, Burns.

At my back, Pestilence is quiet, almost contemplative. A wave of trepidation washes through me. Did something change while the two of us stayed at Ruth and Rob’s house? Did the Big Man throw in the towel and decide none of us were worth redeeming?

If that were true, Einstein, you’d be dead too.

Eventually I see a man with a scraggly beard and dirty brown hair leaning against the wall of a high-rise. I feel so oddly relieved just to see another human being that it takes me a minute to realize that something is still very wrong. There are several open sores on his face, and he stares listlessly at the street.

“Stop the horse.” I’m surprised by the vehemence in my voice.

Pestilence pulls on the reins, and Trixie comes to a halt. Slipping off the steed, I run for the man.