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I still catch no sign of the people who hurt us, though they must be around here somewhere. Or maybe they’re like my childhood dog, who crawled beneath our deck to die, heading back to their own quiet corner of the universe to wash off the stink of murder and let the plague take them.

A pained whiney pulls me from my thoughts. I manage to turn my head just enough to see Pestilence’s mount. Trixie Skillz lays on his side, his body mostly burned.

They didn’t spare the horse?

Bastards.

Trixie is looking at his master, pawing weakly at the ground. I didn’t think I had energy left in me to grieve, especially not for an undead horse, but I do. I pinch my eyes shut and lean into Pestilence’s chest, my body screaming in protest as a silent sob racks my body.

The horseman’s arms tighten around me. When he gets to Trixie’s side, he lingers there for a moment. Then he begins to walk again, leaving his steed behind.

The world loses focus as I fall asleep and wake up, fall asleep and wake up.

I’m notsleeping.The thought cuts through my groggy mind.I’m losing consciousness.

At some point, the smell of smoke is replaced by that of strong antiseptic. I rouse at the odor, too weak to lift my head or open my eyes.

“ … heal her …”

“ … could, there’s still infection to worry …”

“… care … or die …”

“No.”

“No?” This, from Pestilence.

I moan a little. In response, Pestilence’s lips press to my forehead. “Stay with me, Sara,” he whispers against my skin.

Weakly I press a hand to his chest, my fingers touching the warm skin at the base of his throat.

I want to tell him I’m alright. To not worry about me, but there’s a wall of pain I need to break through first, and I just can’t seem to.

“Do you care about her?” the stranger’s voice says.

“Iloveher.”

My fingers flex against his skin.

I need to open my eyes. I need to see the look on his face as he says those words. I need to hear them again while he gazes down at me.

Despite my best efforts, my eyes stay firmly shut.

“You love her?”

“That’s what I just said, human.”

Through my dim awareness I can already tell Pestilence is losing his temper.

“Then I hope it hurts to watch her die.”

A horrible, yawning silence follows.

“So be it,” the horseman says solemnly.

Even through my haze of pain I get chills from his tone.

The stranger—a woman I think—begins to scream. The sound echoes down the corridor, gaining strength. Strength, or … Are those other voices?