Pestilence, War, Famine and I have taken to giving him foods like lemons and olives, cheese and yogurt and fish, just to gauge his reaction. Perhaps he tries them out of guilt, or perhaps it’s curiosity, but Death goes gamely along with it. And now that he has an appetite, he eats like a horse—as does Famine. Those two get to enjoy the learning curve of mortality together.
As for me, my own mortality is less apparent, but I notice it well enough when I cut my hand on accident or scape my shin. These little knicks would’ve healed within hours. Now they take days.
Despite the high we all have from surviving the apocalypse, we cannot escape its gruesome aftermath. There are so many dead. We pass them for miles and miles, days and days, the smell suffocating, and the flies and scavengers that have descended on them only make the scene more horrific.
The dead stretch from Southern California, through Oregon, all the way up into Washington. War had been wrong when he said Thanatos was destroying the world a mile per minute; Death had been killing people off far more aggressively.
The bodies are a prickly, uncomfortable reminder of what Thanatos did, and what the rest of us so narrowly escaped. But then my own perspective is altered. I have glimpsed the afterlife. Death was right—it is nothing to fear.
It’s not until somewhere in Washington that we see the first living person traveling along the road. The man’s eyes look haunted, and when he sees us, his attention lingers on the four brothers a bit too long.
The traveler has barely passed us when Pestilence clears his throat. “Unless any of you are interested in more fighting—”
“I’m always interested in more fighting,” War interjects.
“Psycho,” Famine mutters under his breath.
War turns in his saddle to Famine. “Brother, you say that as though you aren’t one,” War’s voice booms out, louder than the rest.
The two of them laugh then, as though they’re sharing the most hilarious joke and not some traumatizing truth.
“Let me rephrase:” Pestilence continues, ignoring his brothers, “unless you all wish to cut your hard-won mortality short, I suggest we move off the main road from this point on.”
Despite War’s enthusiasm for battle, we do move off the road.
In the evenings, after we’ve put out our campfires, Death and I drift away from the others. Tonight, like every other night since the almost-end-of-the-world, Thanatos holds me, the two of us staring at the stars.
Well, I’m staring at the stars. Thanatos is tracing my lips and doing his absolute best to distract me.
“I cannot believe it took me so long to see what I should’ve all along,” he admits.
“I don’t hold it against you,” I say, smiling softly against his touch. “You were thinking about death, and I was thinking about life.”
“Yes, but life and death are lovers, kismet. They always choose each other in the end.”
I turn my face from the stars and meet Death’s dark gaze. “We did,” I agree, and then I kiss him.
Just when it seems like we will be doomed to travel forever, we arrive on Vancouver Island. I’ve had butterflies in my stomach all day.
Today I will see my son.
The trees around us rustle in the breeze, and this place is one of the most beautiful sites I’ve laid eyes on in a long time. All of the Pacific Northwest is. And maybe that’s because for the first time in over a year I know I don’t have to continue traveling—but I’d also like to believe it’s because this place looks like a slice of heaven.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
I still have so many questions for Thanatos—about the apocalypse’s inception, about its outcome, about God’s feelings on all of it—you know, those big questions that keep you up at night. But for now, I’ll make do with the fact that I stopped Death in the end. Stopped him and then decided to keep him around.
Pestilence leads the group of us off of the paved road, and I cast a glance over at the horsemen. Pestilence—Victor （I will get it right one of these days）—War, and Famine all have an excited gleam in their eyes.
We must be close.
My hands begin to tremble, and Death’s grip on me tightens. For the next few minutes the group of us ride in silence.
I hear children’s laughter before I see the house.
“My girls,” I hear War murmur, now grinning like a mad fool.
I crane my neck to see anything, but the trees block out my view.
But then the trees part, and the late afternoon sun glitters down on green, green grass that slopes away from an enormous two story home.