They move with alarming efficiency, never tiring and never uttering a word—not that they could, but it makes the whole thing that much eerier.
I shudder as Thanatos comes for me, taking my hand and leading me to his horse. Neither of us speaks as he hoists me onto his dappled steed, though I suck in a breath when he joins me a moment later. The press of his thighs and chest feel equal parts intimate and imprisoning.
Death gives no order to his servants, he simply swings his horse around, then whistles. At the sound, his steed jolts forward, and then we’re charging down the long driveway, the horse’s hooves thundering against the asphalt road.
Ahead of us I can see the thick ring of monstrous foliage that encircles the property.
Thanatos doesn’t slow as we charge towards it, and I brace myself. At the last minute, the plants part like a knife through flesh, and then we’re on the other side.
I glance over my shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the skeletal procession that must be following us, but I can see nothing beyond the broad sweep of Death’s shoulder and folded wing.
It’s only once we’re on the open road that I hear the horseman breathe easy from where he sits behind me.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“West,” is his only reply.
That much I actually did know. Death spent the last six months chasing me and Ben through East Texas and a bit of Louisiana. I’m sure he’s more than a little eager to head towards new, untouched land.
The thought has me grimacing.
“Have you ever ridden into a city and simply not killed?” I ask curiously.
“I didn’t harm the city I found you in,” he says.
I’d almost forgotten. “Why didn’t you?”
“I was preoccupied.”
With me, he means.
Goosebumps prick along my skin. That was one of the few times I saw firsthand what sort of power I had over the horseman. Of course, it didn’t much matter to me then because he wouldn’t save Ben. But he did spare that city—if only for a day.
“What if you entered and left a town and didn’t kill all its inhabitants?” I ask.
It’s quiet for a long, drawn out moment. I realize belatedly it’s because Death is looking down at me. I glance up at him only to see his skeptical expression.
“What?” I say defensively.
“I must end life,” he responds. “That’s another one of my instincts.”
“You were the one who mentioned that you horsemen must experience humanity before you make your final decision on ending it,” I say. “Seems like you’re not going to be able to do that unless you let people live long enough to actually understand them.”
He’s still staring at me, but something flickers in his eyes. Is he … is he actually considering my words?
“I don’t always kill immediately,” he says.
“True,” I agree. “But do you actually talk to any humans? Interact with anyone?”
“I interact with you,” he says.
“I’m one person. I don’t think I’m a good example of humanity.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “You are the best example.”
I swallow. I think he’s trying to give me a compliment.
“There’s so much more than me out there,” I say. But it’s clear that Death is too unbending to try to convince him to leave any town, no matter how small, unscathed.
“What if you let a city live long enough for you to experience more of humanity?” I continue, my words carefully light. I’m terrified that my own eagerness will sabotage even this concession.
“I have wings, Laz. I won’t just fit in,” Death says gruffly.
“That didn’t stop you that night in the hospital,” I say.
“I slipped into your room unseen,” he says.
I sigh. “No one is asking you to fit in,” I say. “You’re a messenger of God. People are aware of your existence.”
There’s a long pause.
“Lazarus,” he finally says, “what you’re proposing is madness.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I say. “Neither of us can be killed.”
“No good will come of this,” Death says, his voice solemn.
“Is that a yes?” It sounds like a yes.
He glowers at me, but after a moment he inclines his head.
My heart skips a beat.
This plan of mine might actually work.
Chapter 44
Rosenberg, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen