Pestilence (The Four Horsemen Book 1)

  He sighs, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling.

  “When you ignore me, I burn with restlessness; it feels as though the sun has turned its back on the world. And when you smile at me—when you gaze at me like you can see my soul—I feel … I feel like I am lit on fire, like you have been called by God to raze my world.”

  He is breaking me wide open. No one has ever spoken to me like this—no one has ever even thought of me like this—and I have no defense against it.

  He rises to his feet then and walks to the door. He pauses there. “For good or for ill,” he says over his shoulder, “I have been indelibly changed by you.”

  It’s only once Pestilence’s footfalls have faded away that I release that choked sob.

  It’s bad enough that I want his body. If only the attraction ended there. But my heart is giving way to the horseman’s words, and I’m afraid that in the end, it might be just one more of the horseman’s conquests.

  Chapter 31

  The next morning, I shuffle into the kitchen, noting the cold plate of scrambled eggs and ham left on the table alongside an empty mug, a tea bag, and a thermos full of hot water.

  My finger idly touches the rim of the mug as I glance out a nearby window. The sun is already high in the sky. I rub my head, mussing my brown hair.

  Slept too long—long enough for our dying hosts to make me breakfast.

  The sound of Pestilence’s heavy steps has my entire body going haywire. It can’t decide whether I should squeal or bolt from the room.

  “Good morning, Sara.”

  I force myself to turn and look normal and not like I eavesdropped on things last night that I shouldn’t have. “Um, morning.”

  The horseman’s gaze is deep, his eyes full of all those things he was waxing poetic on last night.

  Don’t act like you didn’t tuck away each one of those compliments to savor later.

  “Where are Rob and Ruth?” I ask, grabbing the thermos and busying myself making a cup of tea.

  Pestilence’s face turns somber. “The plague has begun to exact its toll.”

  My skin burns hot with guilt, and for an instant, I feel just as sick as they must. I’m eating their breakfast and sleeping in their bed like Goldilocks while they die from the plague I literally brought to their doorstep.

  The horseman steps in closer, staring down at the tea I’m steeping.

  When you laugh, I think I might truly die.

  “I understand alcohol, but I do not understand coffee, and I most definitely do not understand tea,” he says, completely unaware of my thoughts.

  I shrug.

  “It tastes and smells acrid.”

  “You actually tasted it?” I ask, raising my eyebrows as I bring the cup to my lips.

  He grimaces. “Last night, after you went to sleep, Ruth and Rob insisted I try it.”

  I snicker. “You let them pressure you into trying tea when I couldn’t even get you to drink hot chocolate?”

  What a sucker.

  Pestilence glowers at me.

  I take another swallow of tea to hide my smile. Despite our casual conversation, the hand that holds the mug trembles.

  I find you beautiful, dear Sara, so beautiful.

  His words from last night surround me; I can’t just be normal around him. Ugh. I’m all wound up.

  My eyes drift to the breakfast laid out for me. Between Ruth and Rob’s sickness and Pestilence’s attention, the thought of eating is twisting my stomach into knots.

  I feel like I am lit on fire, like you have been called by God to raze my world.

  On an impulse, I swivel to him and brush a kiss against his lips.

  Pestilence’s hands move to my waist, and he reels me in, and what was meant to be a brief peck turns into a long, languid kiss.

  For several seconds I give in and let myself be consumed by it. But then, somewhere along the way, I remember myself.

  I break the kiss off as shame smolders low in my belly. Will it ever go away, or will I have to deal with it day after day, city after city, until all the world has burned down and only I remain?

  Still staring at my lips, the horseman takes a step forward, ready to resume the kiss.

  I place a hand on his chest.

  He glances down at it. “Am I to believe that you no longer want my affection when not a minute ago you sought it out?”

  Do I tell him the truth?

  “Pestilence, I …” I can’t do this here. Not when a couple is dying in the next room over and you’re responsible. I clear my throat. “I need to go tend to Rob and Ruth.”

  The horseman’s eyes drift in the direction of their room, his face pinching with strain. Without another word, he leaves the house, the sound of the closing door echoing behind long after he’s gone.

  Chapter 32

  This time, when I care for the elderly couple, Pestilence decides to assist me. He’s endearingly bad at it and more hindrance than help, but he actually cares enough to try and that’s good enough for me.

  Of course, it’s not just the tasks that he’s bad at. He’s sullen and moody as he helps the couple sit up in bed so they can eat and drink what little they can. His temper further blackens anytime Rob thanks him or Ruth lovingly pats his hand.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say the horseman doesn’t like watching his plague take this couple.

  At the end of day two, hours after Pestilence left the house and never returned, I wander into Ruth and Rob’s room. The two of them are in bed, their bodies turned to face each other. Their hands are locked together and their eyes are pressed closed. From what little I can see of their skin—and what I can smell—the sores are already opening on their body.

  “Lord, we ask that you might bring your horseman some level of peace, for he is struggling with his mortal coil,” Rob says, his voice strained and weak. “And we ask that you give strength to Sara, the girl you have placed at his side. She is upholding the role you have tasked her with, and she is doing so with grace, but nonetheless she is profoundly affected by her circumstances …”

  I don’t hear any more than that. Like a coward, I flee the room. Their kindness was already too much, but this is something else altogether.

  I can’t do this. Even as they’re asking their god for strength, I’m breaking because I can’t fucking do this. I can’t eat their food and sleep under their roof and watch them die horrifying deaths while they pray for me and Pestilence.

  I want to laugh at that last one. They’re praying for the one man impervious to God’s wrath.

  But is he? It’s a quiet thought, and an easy enough one to push away.

  In the distance, I hear the door open, and then the heavy footsteps of the horseman. Of all the moments for Pestilence to come back, it has to be now.

  He enters the guestroom silently, finding me sitting on the edge of the bed. A hand covers my eyes as my shoulders shake.

  “Sara?” he says hesitantly.

  I drop my hand from my eyes and instead stare down at it.

  “Don’t let them die,” I say, my voice cracking. I can’t look at him.

  He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “What is this?” he asks.

  “They’re good people,” I say, the words catching as they come out. “They don’t deserve to die this way.”

  “Life doesn’t take fairness into account,” Pestilence says. “I assumed you of all people knew that.”

  “Damnit, Pestilence, you saved me!” I say, my temper flaring. “You can save them too!”

  There’s a long pause. Then, “I will not.”

  I force myself to look up at him. I have to ignore the agonized look in his eyes.

  “Please.”

  He glances away. “That damnable word.”

  I forgot how much he dislikes it until that moment. Guilt and heartache rush in. He’s going to kill them now simply because I said it. He’s going to enjoy it too.

  But for once, that doesn’t happen. Instead, ma
ybe for the first time ever, he appears torn.

  I can physically see him pulling himself together.

  “No,” he says, resolute. “Do not ask me this again.”

  I stand up, my despair transforming into something hotter, meaner, as I stare down the sentient thing that could take away their illness.

  “Or else what?” I ask, stepping up to him. I push at his torso. “Will you tie me up again? Drag me behind your horse until I’m within an inch of death? Expose me to the elements until I get hypothermia?”

  He narrows his eyes. “All great suggestions.”

  “Why save me but not them?”

  “I intend to make you—”

  “Suffer. I know. God, do I know.” I back away from him and sit down wearily once more on the bed.

  He stares at me for a long moment, then he takes a step forward. I tense, and he must notice because he stops. Then, defiantly, he closes the rest of the distance between us.

  Pestilence sits down beside me, his body dwarfing mine. I’m about to get up when he puts an arm around my shoulders.

  I should be pushing him away. I should be yelling at him or storming out of the room. I should be doing a hundred different things. Instead I lean into his embrace and bury my head in his shoulder. My body shakes as I begin to cry great, heaving sobs. His other arm comes around me, and he pulls me onto his lap, cradling me against his massive torso. I take perverse comfort from him, even though he’s the very thing responsible for my grief.

  He presses his cheek to my temple, holding me so tightly that I wonder whether he too is taking comfort from the embrace.

  “Don’t be sad,” he says, his lips brushing against my skin.

  I shake my head against his chest. What he’s asking is impossible. And yet, the longer he holds me, the better I feel.

  I breathe him in. “I’m not going to be able to survive this.” I whisper my greatest fear to him.

  Pestilence’s body locks up.

  “You will,” he insists, “because you must.”

  I pull away long enough to stare him in the eye. “I won’t,” I say again. “I’m going to die before you’re finished with this world.”

  And then Pestilence will be the only one left to suffer.

  Chapter 33

  You can feel the end coming, like a wave rushing in. It moves over you, makes itself at home beneath your skin. It settles into your lungs and slips into your heart and eventually inserts itself into your mind. This terrible, awful thing called death goes from being a distant eventuality to a sudden certainty.

  As the evening stretches on, Ruth and Rob need more and more care, and it’s somewhere during that time that I feel Death join our little party, lingering in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to collect these souls. The elderly couple must feel it too because even though they’re weak and in increasing amounts of pain, they manage to move into each other’s arms.

  Pestilence stares at them curiously, as though he’s never seen anything like this before.

  Their skin is old, their bones are old, their hearts are old. And they’ve loved each other for a long, long time. And yet it’s clear that even after all the years they’ve had together, this parting is too soon.

  Far too soon.

  My throat clogs. This is … personal. Really, really personal. And heartbreaking—and not for my eyes. I bow my head and eventually slip out of the room.

  The horseman doesn’t follow after me, choosing instead to be an interloper. Five minutes pass, then ten.

  What could he possibly be doing in there?

  Finally, when it seems like an eternity has passed, I open the door again and peek in. Pestilence sits next to the bed, his large frame dwarfing the side chair. He watches the couple with a confounded look on his face.

  Ugh, need to remember that this guy has zero social skills.

  Slipping inside, I take his hand and tug him off the chair and out of the room. He appears just as confused by this new turn of events as he did about the couple he was staring creepily at.

  “What is it, Sara?” he asks when I shut the door behind us.

  “These are their last hours. I’m sure they want to spend them alone.”

  His gaze wanders back to the closed door. “How do you know they want to be … alone?”

  I can tell he finds my word choice strange—alone is traveling through a foreign land for weeks on end and never once speaking to another soul. It’s most definitely not holding onto another human being murmuring in low tones about things only lovers know.

  Pestilence is staring at me, waiting for my answer.

  How to put this? I never thought I’d have to explain something this obvious to someone else.

  “I mean that they want to be alone together,” I say. “They want to share their final time enjoying each other’s company, not ours.”

  The horseman is still looking at me with no small amount of confusion, so I elaborate. “We only get so many minutes alive,” I say. “When you find someone worth spending that time with, you don’t want to share those minutes with anyone else.” Particularly not your final few minutes.

  For a long moment, Pestilence digests this. Eventually, he inclines his head. “Then I will leave them … alone.”

  I peer closely at him. “Why were you watching them anyway?”

  Pestilence doesn’t really like watching people die, for all the death he delivers.

  He hesitates before saying, “They are in love.”

  Now it’s me who isn’t following.

  When Pestilence sees this, he explains, “This is the first time I’ve seen humans in love. It’s … curious, compelling, to see a side of human nature that has been previously hidden from me.”

  I don’t know what to make of that. “But you’ve been alive to witness thousands of years of human history. You must’ve seen love at some point during all that time.” After all, he’s the one who’s always waxing on about how ageless he is.

  “Yes,” he says slowly. “But not like this.”

  Not as a living, breathing, feeling thing. And somehow that makes all the difference.

  Chapter 34

  Rob goes first. It’s a cold, bleak morning, the day he dies.

  Ruth’s weak cry wakes me up. Though the sound of it is faint, there’s something to it that hits me low in the gut, and I just know he’s gone. The great love of her life is gone.

  I hurry to her bedroom, even though there’s no reason to rush at this point. Pestilence is already there, Rob’s frail and pockmarked form cradled in his arms.

  The horseman’s sorrowful eyes meet mine, and he looks so hopelessly adrift. I can’t make sense of his emotion, this horseman who insisted they must die.

  Moving past him, I kneel at Ruth’s side. Even in the middle of her fever, she cries weakly. I pull up a chair to her bedside, and I stay with her, clutching her hand in mine as her grief works its way through her system.

  You’d think that after a lifetime together, Ruth would be inconsolable, but not an hour after I entered her room, her sadness has passed like a storm moving through a city.

  “I’ll be with him soon enough,” she tells me. “It really is a blessing, to leave this world together. And to live in an age when I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll see him again—and so soon. I can almost pretend he simply left the house on an errand.”

  Only, Rob’s not coming back.

  Her eyes grow distant and sad. “I just can’t believe it’s over …”

  Just then, Pestilence re-enters the room, his presence like that of the Grim Reaper. But maybe that’s just me because when Ruth sees him, she has a smile ready for the horseman.

  Instead of returning the look, Pestilence glances my way, his brow wrinkling with concern as he frowns. He stops well away from the bed.

  “Don’t be a stranger now,” Ruth chastises him. “Come closer.”

  The horseman moves towards Ruth like she’s a cobra set to strike. It’s almost laughable to se
e formidable Pestilence wary of soft, loving Ruth.

  She pats the bed next to her. I wince at even that small action. I know how unbelievably painful the sores make movement.

  Gently, Pestilence sits where she indicates.

  The old woman reaches out to him and cups his cheek. “I forgive you, dear.”

  Pestilence looks blindsided. “For what?”

  But he knows. I can see it on his face. He knows exactly what she’s forgiving him for, and he’s covering up the fact that he—is—shook.

  “You don’t have an easy task ahead of you,” she says. “For whatever reason, the Lord deemed fit for you to feel what it is to be human—the loss, the heartbreak, all of it.”

  Suddenly, Pestilence appears very young.

  Only now do I see in him what Ruth does: he is one of us even as he stands apart. He’s not insulated to our pain and torment the way I’d like to believe he is. He has to bear it like some kind of penance.

  With that one realization, the entire axis of my world shifts.

  He is every bit a victim of this apocalypse as I am.

  Noble, gallant Pestilence, who must watch us all die, who must make us all die, even though death greatly bothers him. No wonder he hates us so much. He has to. Otherwise, he’s murdering thousands and thousands of people for no good reason other than the fact that he was told to do so.

  “You’re going to be okay. You walk in His light,” Ruth says like the straight baller she is. I mean, holy shit, this woman is on her deathbed and she’s comforting the dude that put her there. If that’s not savage, I don’t know what is.

  Pestilence’s nostrils flare, as though he’s holding back some strong emotion.

  “Rob’s not here to say it,” Ruth continues, “so I will say it for him: You take care of that little lady you’re with, alright?”

  He stares at her the same way he did that first night, like he’s never encountered a Ruth before.