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“Move,” he commands, giving my calves a kick. He jerks the barrel of his shotgun to a vague section of the road about fifteen meters away.

Forcing my injured legs under me, I rise to my feet, then limp down the street, Mac at my back.

I’ve only taken ten or so steps when he kicks me to the ground. In the distance, I hear laughter, and beyond that, an agonized moan.

Pestilence. Apparently he has enough line of sight and good enough vision that he can see what’s going on.

“Get up,” Mac orders, amused.

I bite back a moan at the pain as I push myself to my feet, then resume walking. A few steps later, he kicks me back down.

Again people cackle and Pestilence cries out. And again Mac orders me up only to kick me down soon after. The whole scenario happens a few more times, until the laughter dies off and the horseman’s moans become one continuous wail. Then I simply hobble down the road, my heart sitting like an anvil in my chest.

I think this is what it feels like when your spirit breaks. When there’s nothing left to believe in anymore. The unconquerable Pestilence has been conquered, these humans have lost their humanity, and I’m going to die on the most beautiful winter day.

When I reach my destination, Mac orders, “Stand there. Just so.”

I turn and face him as he backs away from me, his shotgun held loosely in his hands. He’s almost to his comrades, some of whom are now staring at us, when Mac trains his gun at my midsection. The group of them have arranged themselves so that, even tied up, the horseman can clearly see me.

Pestilence cries out weakly, and my eyes meet what’s left of his.

“Don’t forget your mercy,” I tell him as Mac pumps his gun, loading a cartridge into place. “Or what you mean to me. I would’ve given everything up for you—”

“Hey!” Mac calls. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, skank? Oh—” he adds, “and say hi to Satan for me.”

BOOM!

I don’t hear Pestilence’s roar over the sound of the gun blast.

My body jerks as a spray of pellets tear through my torso. The pain is sudden andeverywhere, blinding me and stealing my breath away. It blooms from a dozen different places.

I fall to my knees.

Can’t catch my breath.

I hear the horseman’s bellow as I put my hand to my chest and watch my blood slip between my fingers.

All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.

It’s that senseless line that runs on repeat in my mind. And I know it’s senseless and that my life is bleeding its way out of me and these final seconds are more precious than whatever it is any of us hold dear anymore, but I can’t shut my brain up from that ridiculous nursery rhyme.

Mac doesn’t bother shooting me again. Instead he laughs with his comrades over his witty last line as he slings the shotgun over his shoulder. Someone begins to pour lighter fluid over dried wood piled at the horseman’s feet.

They’re going to burn Pestilence. Just like I did.

The last thing I smell is smoke.

I don’t knowhow long I linger on the very edge of life.

The pellets must’ve missed the important bits, part of me thinks. Another part of me thinks that maybe I have already died. I mean, how do any of us really know what death is like?

“Sara …”

“Sara …”

“Sara …”

Someone keeps calling my name. I try to peel open my eyes, but what I see makes no sense.