Page 55

I nod anyway, acting as though I’m keenly aware of exactly what he’s saying. His lips slow until he has nothing left to say. He still clutches my hand, but then his eyes move above me, beyond me, and his hand relaxes.

Fuck death. Seriously, fuck this horrible, horrible thing that we all must endure.

I let go of him and stand, my eyes already looking for the next person.

Farther down, a woman is trying to get to her feet, one of the horseman’s golden arrows jutting from her chest. I jog over to her, ignoring the pain in my thigh.

Time blurs as I move from person to person, giving what aid I can, which isn’t much, but it does catch the eye of a paramedic-turned-infantryman. He joins the effort, and that, in turn catches the eye of a doctor.

The longer we linger out in the street, the more people trickle out of whatever buildings they took shelter in to now lend a hand. My throat thickens at the sight.

This is what Pestilence misses in his quest to kill us off. That right alongside the worst of human nature is the best of it.

We all work somberly together. No one outright says it, but I can practically hear the thoughts around me.

Am I infected?

Is it already too late?

How long do I have?

When will I start to feel ill?

A series of screams punctuate the air.

I glance up from the man I’m kneeling next to, the doctor at my side.

Off in the distance, Pestilence gallops back down the street on his white steed, his armor and face blood-smeared.

What has he done?

He holds his bow, an arrow notched, ready to kill anyone who dares to rise against him.

I tense at the sight. I’d almost believed that this was the end of our partnership.

Should’ve known better.Pestilence the Conqueror gets to have his cake and eat it too.

“What in the hell?” the paramedic utters next to me. “He’s back?”

I stand, drawing a few eyes to me.

Pestilence’s jaw is tight, his eyes scanning the street as he charges down the road. When the horseman sees me, his expression doesn’t change, but I swear he relaxes.

Why does he want me so badly?

He surges forward, his steed’s pace quickening as the two head straight for me.

Run,an irrational part of me thinks—like that would do a fat lot of good now that he’s set his sights on me. Instead I move into the middle of the street, away from where the other people are gathered.

“What are you doing?” the doctor calls to me.

I ignore him, my gaze trained on the horseman. Pestilence, for his part, now pays the last of his assailants no heed. Nor does he need to. The gunshots that punctuated the air earlier are now all silent.

The stillness squeezes my gut tight. The horseman effortlessly cut all these people down. How does anyone make a stand against this sort of power? It’s too great, too unstoppable.

As he closes in on me, Pestilence leans deeply to the side of his saddle, not slowing. I don’t realize what he means to do until his arm extends out.

And now, even knowing I’m not going to get away, I bolt. I don’t know what drives me to run. Maybe it’s the punishing pace of Pestilence’s steed, maybe it’s the fierce look in the horseman’s eyes. Or maybe it’s that rider and mount look like they bathed in the blood of their enemies.