Page 101 of Famine

Of course, a major city like São Paulo would be a foothold for cartels. And by the smell of it, they’re growing those drugs here, too.

My eyes linger on the guards we pass, bows and arrows loosely held in their grips. They stare at us, unsmiling. No cheers, no cowering, no surprise or any other emotion. I see one of them spit out some chew, but that’s the extent of their reaction.

At least they haven’t shot at us yet. That would suck.

As Famine sweeps by, the farmland that I can see begins to wither, just as it always does when the horseman passes through a place.

One of the armed guards shouts, pointing to something on their side of the wall. Then several of them are yelling at each other—then at us. A few point their weapons in our direction.

“Flower, I don’t think our company was adequately warned about me,” Famine says.

No sooner has he spoken than the Reaper turns his punishing gaze on them.

The earth revolts, shaking the ground violently. The wall seems to weave back and forth before collapsing altogether, and the men come toppling down with it.

Now that the guards are on the ground, several plants break through the surface of the earth, growing in a matter of seconds, their vines coiling around the men.

I turn my head away before I can watch the rest. I still hear their agonized screams.

“Can I admit something to you?” Famine says conversationally. “I like it when they fight.”

In front of us, our escort’s horse rears back. The man manages to stay in the saddle, but before either horse or rider can get their bearings, another plant bursts from the ground nearby. It lashes out like a whip, wrapping itself around the rider and dragging him off the beast. He screams, even as more spindly shoots follow, overtaking him until he’s entangled completely.

Famine passes him by without a second glance. Ahead of us there are more fields and more guards and, once we pass them, more death. So much more death. The men fall in droves, along with the wall they were defending.

Just when I think the Reaper has wiped everyone out, more appear. And with each death, I swear the horseman at my back grows giddier and giddier.

Eventually, I catch sight of a thick gate to our left, barring us entrance. As we get close, I notice strange shapes dangling from the wrought iron archway. It’s not until we’re about ten meters away, however, that I realize those shapes are dismemberedmen, their heads on pikes, their cleaved torsos hanging from the blockaded gate.

At the sight, my stomach heaves.

“I think I’m going to be …”

Famine barely has time to slow his horse before I’m leaning over the side of the saddle and puking my guts out.

I’ve seen countless deaths at the horseman’s hands; why these corpses would be the ones to make me retch is beyond me.

“Please don’t tell me this means you’ll need another meal,” the Reaper says.

“Jesus,” I say, catching my breath, “you are an asshole.”

I right myself just as the horseman hands me the canteen I’ve taken to carrying around with me. Wordlessly, I take it from him, and swallow down enough water to wash the taste of sickness from my mouth. Even as I do so, my eyes return to the wall of their own accord. My stomach pitches again at the sight, but I manage to hold myself together.

As I stare up at the corpses, I realize that I recognize one of the faces. It’s the man from the last city, the one who chatted with me at the dance right before all hell broke loose.

Unease drips down my spine. These are Famine’s men. They must’ve warned the people of São Paulo of the horseman’s arrival and made demands on Famine’s behalf. And … someone didn’t take that news too well.

I lower the canteen, absently capping it.

“Better?” the Reaper asks.

I nod, shoving away my thoughts.

“Good.”

Famine raises his hand towards the thick gate. Already most of the wall around it has been toppled over, the men dragged from their posts.

Overhead, the clouds darken to the color of a bruise, and the already humid air seems to grow even heavier.

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