Page 6

Hot bile burns the back of my throat. Already a corona of blood is blooming around his head, and even though his face is a mass of wounds, I hear him groan.

“Oh God,” I whisper. This thing is stillalive.

I barely have time to turn to the side before I retch.

His breath is coming in wet pants. He reaches for me, his fingers brushing my boot.

I jump back, letting out a cry and nearly falling on my ass.

I didn’t even realize how close I’d crept up to him.

Need to end this.

I race back to my gun on unsteady feet.

Why did I leave it behind?

Through my haze of panic, I can’t remember which tree I left it at, andthe horseman is still alive.

I give up my search for the weapon and head back to the little camp I set up for myself. Among my things are matches and lighter fluid.

My hands shake as I grab them. Mechanically I head back.

Are you really going to do this?I stare dumbly down at the items in my hand.He’s still alive and you’re going to burn him while he breathes. You, a firefighter.

Fire is no clean death. In fact, it’s got to be one of the worst ways to go. I don’t hate Pestilence nearly enough because I can barely stand the thought of what I’m about to do.

I step back up to the horseman and flip open the lid of the lighter fluid. I bite my lip until it bleeds as I overturn the bottle, the liquid glugging out of it. I douse him, head to foot. I have to pause to vomit again.

Then the bottle is empty.

I can’t manage to keep hold of the matches I pull out. My hands are shaking so badly I keep dropping them. Finally my hand steadies enough for me to grip one, but then the issue is striking the matchbox.

Again the horseman gropes for my ankle.

“…leeeeeseee…” he groans from the ruin of his mouth.

A cry escapes me. I think that was a plea.

Don’t look at him.

It takes five tries, but finally, I light one goddamn match. I don’t consciously mean to drop it—if I had it my way, I probably would’ve stared at the flame until it burned down to my fingers—but alas, my hand shook and the match fell.

Pestilence’s clothes light on fire immediately, and I hear him give an agonized shout.

The smell of burning flesh wafts up from him as the fire builds on itself.

I realize belatedly that his armor is blocking the bulk of the fire, making an already slow death that much slower. He’s burning too hot and too thoroughly to touch, or else I might’ve removed his armor or stamped out the flames.

I begin to dry heave. I’m not sure I could’ve given this creature a dirtier death.

He screams untilhe can’t.

No one deserves to go like this. Not even a harbinger of the apocalypse.

I back away, and then my legs give out.

This doesn’t feel like some noble deed. I don’t feel like the hero, saving the world.