“I don’t believe you’re dead,” I breathe.
Nothing.
Maybe he still is. Maybe this is what an undead body feels like before it wakes.
There’s only one way to know.
Need to check his pulse. Hopefully he won’t snap my neck the moment I do so.
I kneel down next to him, fighting off fatigue as I grope around his armor until I find his hand. I move my fingers to his wrist, but there’s no pulse. Still, if he’s not alive yet, he probably will be soon. Bitter relief courses through me, though the last thing I should be is relieved. The fact that Death cannot be killed makes stopping him that much more complicated.
Setting his hand down, I continue searching for my bag, blinking several times as I feel my eyes droop with sleep. My fingers brush against more dislodged arrows. Eventually my hand closes over my satchel.
Success!
I tug on it, only to discover that it’s pinned beneath Death’s shoulders and his wings.
Well shit, the thing is as good as gone.
I lean back against the cart wall, my lower legs brushing against the horseman. I’m beyond exhausted, all I want to do is sleep, and my grand plan of fleeing just got shot to hell.
My eyes begin to droop.
Oh God, not here. Need to get out of the cart …
My body is having none of it.
At the very least, I need to slit the horseman’s throat or do something else drastic to keep him dead for a while longer. I nearly retch at the prospect. One killing is enough for a day.
I rub my eyes. At the very least I should bind his hands.
Alright, I can do that. Even though it seems impossible, and my head hurts just trying to figure out what I’ll need to use as restraints, I can do it.
I just need a moment to rest … I haven’t been able to rest, and I’m really, really tired … but then I’ll do it … I just need a little …
I jolt awake to the sensation of my body tipping forward.
I catch myself, but then decide to lay down in the cart. I’ll find the bindings in just a minute. I’m just going to close my eyes for one moment, then I’ll do it …
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I’m aware that this is an epically bad idea, but it’s warm here, next to the horseman, and I’m too tired to panic—too tired to care much at all.
Just going to rest here for a minute … then I’ll get up …
This time when I shut my eyes, it’s for good.
Chapter 11
Bardstown, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
I wake to the smoky smell of frankincense and myrrh. Above me, pale morning light stretches across the sky, bathing the clouds in a rosy glow. The air has a chill bite to it, but I’m warm here, with my blanket …
Blanket?
My eyes move to the massive black wing that’s draped over me like my own personal blanket. Worse, at some point in the night the horseman shifted position. He now lays on his side, his face inches from mine.
Oh no.
My heart starts hammering in my chest.
Lazarus, what have you done, you enormous twat?
As gently as I can, I grab Death’s wing, biting down on my lower lip to smother the panicked sounds I want to make.
I expect the warm feel of them. What I don’t expect is how soft they are. I hadn’t noticed that last night.
Move.
I push the wing off of me, only to hear a soft sigh come from the horseman.
I freeze as he stirs.
This is where I stab him. This is where I force him to stay unconscious so I can give the people of Lexington even more time to evacuate.
I reach for my sheathed knife … but I hesitate.
Just do it. He’s done it to you before.
But I don’t have the heart to. Not right now when he’s so helpless. It feels … wrong.
I move my hand away from my knife—for now.
It’s only then that I notice the smoke wafting lazily around us. How I missed it before now is a mystery; I’ve been choking on the fragrant fumes since I woke.
Sitting up, I search for the smoke’s source. After a moment, I spot the strange torch that it’s coming from. It rests in the corner of the cart, and from its decorative silver casing, I know exactly who it belongs to.
Get your things and go!
Quietly, I grab my bow and quiver from where they rest at my feet. No wonder I couldn’t find them last night. I’d been looking in the wrong area the entire time. Never taking my eyes off of the horseman, I quietly grab them and lower them to the dirt outside the cart. Then I scan the wagon for that damned bag of mine. I finally catch sight of it, wedged between the horseman’s shoulder and wing.