Page 146 of War

The living dead surround War’s quarters.

They stand idly around the tent, weapons held at the ready. Most of them rock slightly, their decomposing features slack. And yet, despite the fact that their eyes are unfocused and their heads don’t turn at the sound of my footsteps, there’s an awareness to them.

Sothatexplains the smell.

I cup my hand over my nose. The stench is much worse out here, and the hot day is doing nothing to help it.

A moment later, War steps out next to me, a smile clinging to his lips. One look at him and the entire camp will know that the horseman got himself some ass last night.

Awesome.

“What is this?” I ask, my gaze sweeping over the corpses.

“They’re for your protection.” His smile slips away. “It seems I cannot trust even my own men to keep you safe.”

Now that my gaze sweeps over my surroundings, I finally notice that the phobos riders that used to stand guard are indeed gone.

In their place are armed zombies, their blades holstered at their sides.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I state, covering my nose again. Ugh, I can taste the rot on my tongue.

“On the contrary, wife, now it’s more important than ever.” Even as War says it, his zombies back away, giving me space to breathe. “I warned you already: I won’t lose you.”

The horseman cups my face, his gaze searching mine. “Death always comes between humans. I won’t let it happen to us.”

I see his age then, in his eyes. Thousands upon thousands of years of wars. So many lives and so many deaths. It’s moments like these when I remember that he was never born and he can never die.

I sense that all those years of battle have worn War down. That beneath his violence, he’s held onto a spark of something that doesn’t seem very War-like: peace, connection,love. I see that longing in his eyes.

And now I’ve begun to make the mistake I was never supposed to make. I’ve started to forget that War is a jackal set on devouring the world. I’ve started to see him as someone worth caring about.

As someone Idocare about.

The next weekis a blur of touching and sex. War extends our time at camp simply so that he can relegate some days to staying in bed and nothing else. And there’s no more mention of raising the dead—my undead guards aside.

And if I thought this brief, sex-filled blip would end the moment we packed up camp, I thought wrong. War stops several times on the road so that he can fit himself inside me, and the nights during our travels are largely sleepless.

Even when we make camp in the next settlement, it doesn’t end. He seems more ravenous for me than ever.

War fucks like he fights. He’s brutal, deliberate, and full of raw masculine energy. He takes me like it’s the one thing he was made for, like this is the last time he’ll ever be in me. Like he’s reaching, reaching, reaching for something he can’t quite grasp.

I was right the first time I felt him in me; he’s ruined me. Because the craze isn’t one-sided. If it were, I’d relish the fact that at any moment I could just walk away and be alright. But I don’t think I could. Not at this point. So instead, I now have to grapple with the fact that I’m enamored by a man who has committed atrocities.

He’s barely slipped out of me when he gathers me against him, holding me close.

Outside, the Egyptian sun is rising, turning the cream walls of our tent a rosy hue. All around me, everything has a hazy, warm glow.

“Two days from now, when battle begins, you will stay here,” War says softly, rubbing circles into my back. “My undead will guard you until I return.”

My body goes rigid. I almost forgot about the upcoming raid.

After Port Said, we traveled inland, heading through the Nile Delta towards the city of Mansoura. Here, several kilometers outside the city’s walls, we made camp.

The land around us is a bit lusher than it was at our earlier stops, but the decaying, rubble-filled state of the towns we passed detracts from its natural beauty. Cars still congest many of the streets, old computers and appliances litter the landscape, burned carcasses of buildings line the road, and many of the recent additions Egypt has made to its cities—such as gas lamps and horse stalls—have already been vandalized.

From everything I’ve seen of these parts, I’d say the people here were suffering long before War came around. They don’t need any more pain.

Seeing my face, War says, “Mansoura must fall, and I will be there.”

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