But she moves me. This woman whose soul I can’t take and whose life I can’t know. This woman whose face should blur together with every other face I’ve ever seen. Instead it lingers on in my mind’s eye, haunting me like some sort of specter.
Lazarus.
How many times that cursed name has crossed my mind in the hours since she first spoke it.
This human doesn’t come with an Angelic word, but she doesn’t need one—she was given a human one that is just as fitting.
She can withstand death, which means …
She’s creation. Life.
Lazarus
I wake with a groan, my hand going for my neck. Above me the dark night is peeling away, the stars fading into the periwinkle sky.
This time the confusion lasts only for a split second before I remember— Death. Confrontation. Broken neck.
That bastard.
He killed me twice in the last day, and left me lying here, off to the side of the highway. And now he’s gone—all but for a single black feather that tumbles off my chest as soon as I sit up.
My anger rouses deep from its depths. It’s too late to hurt the horseman, but no matter.
This latest confrontation has awoken something inside of me.
True purpose.
This was a task I already began months ago, but it feels different now that I’m formally committing myself to it: Stop the horseman. Save humankind.
No matter the cost.
Chapter 7
Lexington, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
I have two goals in mind: One, warn cities about the horseman’s looming arrival. Two, stop the horseman by any means necessary.
Just finding a town untouched by Death takes the better part of two weeks. I assumed I’d have trouble picking up the horseman’s trail, considering my past luck, but now it’s as though I cannot escape him. Everywhere I go, he’s already been. He doesn’t just leave corpses in his wake; the cities themselves are destroyed, the buildings leveled, the streets obscured by debris. It’s as though it’s not good enough to simply kill us, he must wipe out all evidence of our existence.
By the end of two weeks, I’ve seen dozens of cities of dead, and the map I picked up back in Tennessee is full of X’s—each one representing a city Death has taken. One of them is Nashville—beautiful, doomed Nashville. I openly wept when I entered the metropolis. The bodies had already begun to rot and the smell … it and the carrion eaters drove me out of the city just as quickly as I entered it.
But amidst it all, I’ve been learning. For instance, Death doesn’t move in straight lines. Instead he zig-zags across sections of the country. I can see it plainly on the map, though by the time I recognize the pattern, the dead I come across are older and more decomposed, which means Death is pulling farther ahead of me.
Another thing I’ve learned—through assumption alone—is that the horseman never sleeps and never stops, making it that much harder to stay one step ahead of him.
So when I eventually do come across a city lying in Death’s path—one full of living, breathing people—it’s like a cruel dream, and I have to check my map again.
The city of Lexington bustles about as though nothing is amiss. And not only is it thriving, it is a massive city—one Death would not leave standing.
Did I get something wrong? Has the horseman changed his pattern?
I have this panicky urge inside me to stand in the middle of the road and scream the truth from the top of my lungs.
Death is coming for you all!
Instead, I head for the police station—though it takes me a few tries and some asking to find my way.
I lean my well-traveled bike against the side of the police station and I worry my lower lip as I eye the building.
Should I have gone to a fire station instead? City Hall? I don’t actually know where the best place would be to share news of Death’s movements.
Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly remove my weapons, leaving them with my bike. I sincerely hope no one is ballsy enough to steal these right outside a police station. Then, I stride inside.
There are a few people waiting in nearby seats, and the officer manning the front desk gives me a bored look, like he’d rather be doing other things in other places.
I head up to him, cracking my knuckles finger by finger as though that might dispel my nerves.
“What can I do for you today, miss?” the man drawls.
I draw in a deep breath. There is no sugar-coating this.
“One of the Four Horsemen is closing in on this city.”
I assumed I wouldn’t be believed. I assumed the officer I approached would laugh me off.