I pinch my lips together to hold everything in, though I can still feel my lower lip trembling.
The horseman steers me towards my banged up table and chairs, but I’m too antsy to take a seat.
Need to get going …
“How did you know I’ve been running?” I ask, as my gaze sweeps over him again. I feel like my eyes must be deceiving me.
Pestilence releases my shoulder, peering down at me. I feel as though he can see all the stress I carry on my face. How it has worn me down over these last several months.
“War, Famine, and I have continued hunting Death—who, we’ve noticed, is traveling alone, despite the fact that we’re all aware of your existence. Combine that knowledge with Thanatos’s circuitous movements and the awakened revenants and well, he’s obviously looking for you.”
My pulse is in my ears. I’ve known Thanatos has been searching for me, but having Pestilence confirm it makes it all uncomfortably real.
“How did you find me?” I ask as Ben keeps wailing in my arms.
Pestilence grips the back of one of my kitchen chairs. “There are not many people named Lazarus, and unlike Death, my brothers and I are willing to interact with the living. It’s amazing how far a few questions will go.”
It’s still more than a little astounding, considering how new I am to Orange.
“How far away is Death?” I ask. I need to know how much time I have.
“Twenty miles, give or take a few,” Pestilence says.
I close my eyes for a moment. That’s far too close, which means I need to head to Port Arthur today and buy us tickets out of here. But Ben can’t travel. Not like this. He needs a doctor. And medicine. And rest. But if we don’t move, it might all be over anyway.
Pestilence continues, “Last time we checked, Death was heading off in a different direction, so you probably have a day—maybe two—before he comes here.”
It’s not long enough. I hold Ben close, even though his cries ratchet up at the action.
“Why are you here, warning me about this?” I say.
Pestilence’s gaze is heavy, and I swear I see some fatherly concern in them as he takes me in.
“Famine, War, and I never finished our discussion with you,” he says. “We would like to.”
The horseman’s gaze drops to Ben, who is still wailing. “But perhaps now is not a good time.” The horseman’s eyes linger a moment longer on my son. “Infection is ravaging his body—and it’s spreading by the hour. He needs antibiotics, Lazarus.”
It’s all too much. My shoulders curl in and I begin to weep, bowing my head over Ben’s.
“Hey, hey,” Pestilence says.
This bear of a man pulls me and Ben in for a tight hug. It’s a firm, quick squeeze that’s over before it’s even begun. But his hand stays on my shoulder and he rubs it reassuringly. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” he says with such certainty. “Dry those eyes.”
It’s willpower alone that has me pulling myself back together.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, my voice broken.
“Take care of your boy—find a doctor, get him some antibiotics. He’ll be alright. When you’re ready, come find me and my brothers. We’re staying in an abandoned farmhouse just off of Road 3247. It’s slate blue and it has a red door with a big iron star on it.”
I nod distractedly.
Pestilence hesitates, then glances around my apartment. Noticing the pencil and notebook I keep on my kitchen counter, the horseman grabs the two items and begins to jot down the address. He rips the sheet of paper off and hands it to me.
“You have about a day—give or take. Lazarus, I know you’ve been running. And I understand why. But we want you to stop.”
Chapter 32
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I go directly to the hospital, pushing Pestilence’s absurd final words out of my head. I won’t stop running. I can’t. Not if it might mean Ben dying at Thanatos’s hands.
The wait to be admitted is blessedly short. The nurse calls me in, clipboard in hand, and checks Ben’s vitals. Her lips press together in a grim line, and my heart plummets.
“When did the symptoms start? Has he had anything to eat or drink today? When was the last time he did feed? When was his last wet diaper?”
I answer her questions, all while she keeps her face carefully blank, pausing only to scribble notes on her clipboard.
Once I’m finished talking, she says, “Well, your son is definitely sick.” She tucks the clipboard under her arm and stands. “I’m going to get him started on an IV so that we can get some fluids in him. The doctor will be in here shortly.”