Page 17 of Pestilence

You made this shit sandwich, Burns, now you got to eat it.

The sound of crying cuts through my thoughts, and I remember the homeowner. How many hours has it been since we showed up on her doorstep?

Twelve? More? Less?

I grope around again for an oil lamp; now that power is spotty, people keep lamps and lanterns around. My fingers slide over a bedside table, but what they bump into isn’t a lamp. I feel around the glass of water and the pitcher next to it.

Did Pestilence leave this here?

I balk at the thought. That would be far too kind for the likes of him.

Pulling off my blankets, I get out of bed and slip down the hall, ready to head towards the sound of the crying, which seems to be coming from a room at the back of the house. But then I hesitate.

What are you going to do, Sara? Comfort her? You’re a stranger playing Goldilocks in her house. You think she wants anything to do with you?

I stand there, second-guessing myself, when finally my head catches up to me.

My eyes pass over the dark hallway once, twice, looking for Pestilence. I prowl back to my room and peek inside. The darkness obscures a lot, but it can’t hide a horseman, and there isn’t one in my room.

He’sgone.

I don’t give myself time to wonder where Pestilence slunk off to. I’ve got who knows how much time until he returns.

Not going to waste it.

I have to force myself to ignore the woman’s cries. Can’t help her now. She’ll die like the rest of them—like Ishouldbe dying—and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I tried, I want to tell her,I tried but the horseman can’t be killed, and I’m so sorry but I don’t think any of us are getting out of this alive.

Except that I am. Tonight. Right now.

I grab the pile of clothes I shed earlier from where they lay next to the bed. As silently as I dare, I slip them on, my hands fumbling with the buttons as they begin to shake.

Hurry, hurry. Before he comes back.

Grabbing my boots, I slip them on and pad softly to the window. I wiggle the pane open, wincing against the blast of frigid air that blows in, stinging my lungs and rustling my hair.

Damnit.Reallydon’t want to go out there on a night like this.

I hesitate. I could stay with Pestilence; he’s not trying to kill me after all.

He wants to make you suffer.

There will be more running, more bleeding wrists and more days like today where I can’t keep up. And that’s assuming Pestilence doesn’t decide I need to suffer more than I already am. I’d rather not stick around to see what creative punishments he comes up with.

Mind made up, I punch out the window screen. A moment later, I hear it thud softly as it hits the ground below.

Deep breath for courage.

I swing first one leg, then the other, out over the window ledge. Outside, it’s snowing again, a thin layer of it carpeting the ground. It’s that ground that has me nervous. Sitting two stories up as I am, the drop could break my legs. It would have to be a bad landing, but it could. Painstakingly I lower myself until I’m dangling out the window by my hands and thanking the fates that firefighting has given me good upper body strength.

And then I let go.

For one long moment, I’m weightless. Then the moment ends, and my feet slam against the ground. Slowly, I straighten. No rolled ankles, no broken bones—for once, luck’s with me.

I give the house a final, passing glance, and then I bolt.

I sprint for the road, even though my body is in no condition to run.

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