I shove Death’s booted feet into the cramped cart and close the back of it.
Once that’s done, I retrieve my belt and sheathed knife from my bag and slip them on.
Just in case things go sideways.
Hopping onto the bike, I put my feet on the pedals and ride out of Lexington with one dead horseman at my back.
Chapter 10
Interstate 64, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
I don’t know how many miles I’ve gone when I hear the pound of hoof beats behind me. I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Death’s dapple gray stallion, closing the distance between us. It gallops all the way up to the cart before leaning over and nudging the horseman’s body with its muzzle.
My heart is beating loudly because a supernatural horse is shadowing me and it seems like this is where I learn that supernatural horses like to eat humans or something else equally atrocious.
But after checking on its owner, the horse seems content to merely follow us.
I ride the rest of the day and into the night, retracing Death’s movements as best I can. He’ll eventually wake, and he’ll eventually resume his terrible mission, but hopefully I can stop him for a time.
Every so often I hear something clatter in the cart. The first few times this happened, I stopped my bike to try to figure out the cause of the noise. That’s when I first noticed the bloody arrows lying next to the horseman. Initially, I assumed these had been jostled loose by the swaying cart. But as the hours pass and one by one, the bloody arrows that were once definitely inside the horseman are now obviously outside of him, I realize that somehow his body is purging the weapons.
That’s … more than a little unsettling.
I pedal long into the night. My legs have been shaking and cramping for hours, and it’s colder than hell and I probably should’ve stopped miles ago to rest. I’m beyond exhausted.
Still, I push on until I’m literally too exhausted to continue pedaling. Only then, do I angle my bike to the shoulder of the road and let it roll to a stop. Behind me, Death’s horse trails along.
I swing my leg over my seat and slip off, kicking out the bike stand.
All I want to do is collapse on the ground and sleep my exhaustion away.
Have to set up camp. The thought nearly does me in. I’m not entirely sure I have it in me to make a proper bed, let alone set up camp. Still, I stumble over to the cart to at least get a blanket from my bag.
Once I get to the cart, however, I hesitate. I’m pretty sure almost all the arrows have been purged from Death’s body, which means he’s healing—and really, really rapidly.
I stare and stare at horseman’s winged form. One of my hands moves to the knife at my side, and I wait for him to leap up and surprise me. When a minute passes and nothing happens, I force myself to take several long, steadying breaths.
Assuming he can’t die, then … what if he wakes while I sleep?
He broke my neck when he found me a nuisance. What will he do now that I’ve truly hurt him?
I have to be ready for him.
I glance around. Thick trees line the highway—I could sleep hidden somewhere in there … Maybe he wouldn’t go looking for me—or if he did, maybe I’d wake in time.
… And maybe in the light of day, this tree line won’t actually hide me at all. The thought of the horseman spotting me and coming after me terrifies me beyond belief.
I could simply flee. My legs nearly give out at the thought. I have nothing left in me. I spent it all getting this far away.
I don’t know what options that leaves me with.
My gaze returns to the horseman. The few times that I’ve woken up from death, it’s taken me a moment to get my bearings. Perhaps it’s the same for the horseman.
If I were able to wake up just as the horseman started rousing, I might still have the upper hand. But that would mean … that would mean getting in there with him.
No. Absolutely not.
So, fleeing it is.
Before I can think twice, I’m dragging myself into the cart to get my things. I’ll simply grab my bag and my bow and quiver and leave.
The cart rocks a little as I step onto it, and I have to bite back a whimper. My limbs are still trembling with exhaustion, and it makes groping around the cart in the darkness that much harder.
Where are my things? Where are they? Where are they? My hands keep closing around arrows and nothing more.
I lift one of Death’s wings, then immediately drop it.
It’s warm!
I stare in horror at the horseman.
“Death?” I whisper.
No response.