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Pushing my aching thighs for all they’re worth, I sprint down the street, back towards the highway. Trixie’s hoof beats sound louder and louder as the two close in on me. I pump my arms, forcing my legs to move faster.

I don’t make it very far before I feel Pestilence’s arm wrap around my back. With a jerk that has my nearly healed wounds screaming in protest, he lifts me off the ground, setting me smoothly on the seat in front of him.

“Secure yourself, Sara,” he commands, not slowing.

Going as fast as we are, there’s no way I’m going to be able to adjust myself from sitting sidesaddle, so I wrap my arms around Pestilence’s midsection, holding on tight to him as he directs us towards the water. His arm rests almost possessively around me, further securing me to him.

We speed by the large buildings for a second time, and as we race down the street, I catch sight of a few more fallen shooters laying in pools of their own blood, their bodies shot through with arrows. I stop looking when I see one of the golden arrows protruding from a dead man’s eye. The whole thing is so ghastly and violent and sad.

Pestilence didn’t spare them. Not like he spared me. And he may think that I have the worse fate, but at the end of it all, I feel lucky to be sitting here on the horseman’s steed rather than finding out what lies on the other side of death.

Abruptly, the buildings give way to sand, and I have a clear view of the inlet I’ve kept catching glimpses of. I stare out at the water, and beyond it, Vancouver Island.

Trixie’s strides pound against the sand, his hooves spraying the fine grains against me. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to the sea, but I don’t get the chance to enjoy it. The dry sand gives way to wet, and still the horse doesn’t slow.

“What are you doing?” I yell at Pestilence over the pound of hooves, not quite able to tear my gaze from the water.

Other than securing me even closer against him, Pestilence doesn’t respond.

My breath catches as the beach ends, and then, quite suddenly, we’re thundering through the water.

Wait, that’s not quite right …

I glance down.

“Oh my God,” I say, staring at the rippling waves. “Oh myGod.” The steed is not wading through the water, he’s galloping ontopof it.

Trixie’s hooves splash against the water’s surface as though the inlet were nothing more than a puddle, kicking up a few stray droplets of sea spray onto me and the horseman.

We’re riding on water.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again.

Still on top of the water.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Pestilence can spread plague just by moving through a city, and he’s impervious to death. What’s one more freakish power?

Once we’re well away from land, Pestilence’s steed slows to a reasonable gait. Only now am I able to—awkwardly—throw one of my legs over the saddle and face forward. (I still nearly fall off in the process.)

Land hedges us in on all sides as we move across the water, chilly droplets splashing against my thighs.

Pestilence leans against me, his chest pressing against mine with enough force to lean me forward.

Goddamn but he’s heavy.

“Can you let up a little?” I say.

So close to elbowing his ass.

He ignores my request.

Typical.

As the minutes tick away, a little more of his weight presses down on me. It happens so gradually that I’m bent substantially forward before I realize this might not be intentional.

“Pestilence?”

No response.