Page 39 of Famine

“Really?” I deadpan, looking down at him. “I’m supposed to wear cuffs while riding a horse? Now this is mostdefinitelyoverkill.”

“Not my problem,” the Reaper says, walking back towards his steed.

I scowl at my horse. “You do realize that I could simply …” I was going to sayride away, but before I finish the sentence I realize that the horseisn’twearing any reins; instead, the creature is bound by a length of rope to one of Famine’s mounted men.

“So, does this mean we’re going to another town?” I call out to Famine.

He ignores me completely.

“Are we?” I ask a man passing by.

He ignores me too.

“Anyone?” I say. “Anyone at all? Do any of you useless sacks of shit know where we’re going?”

“Shut the fuck up,” someone says.

“Don’ttalk to her,” Famine warns his men.

I can’t tell if he’s saying it in ahowdare you talk to my lady that wayor adon’t instigate herkind of way. Probably the latter because he’s a maniacal jerk. But you never know.

It takes a little longer for the rest of the group to finish gathering up whatever supplies they need, but soon enough, the small gang of us begin to move.

The moment Famine prods his horse into action, the beast takes off like he’s been unleashed. The two of them gallop ahead of us, moving farther and farther away before the Reaper doubles back, returning to us.

For a moment both man and horse look as though they’re free. The horseman’s bronze armor catches the light as he closes in on us. That sun seems to love him, the rays highlighting his toffee colored hair and making his mossy eyes glitter. He looks like a prince ripped out of a fairytale.

When he reaches us, he stops up short, causing his men to, in turn, halt their steeds too. Famine’s ruthless gaze moves over the group of them. These are the men who helped execute innocent people—who stabbed me and killed the mayor and his family. They’re the ones who have been doing this same thing to the people of every rotting city they passed through.

“Did you forget something?” one of them calls out.

Famine’s eyes land on the man for a moment before taking the rest of the group in again.

“You all have been so very helpful to me,” the Reaper says.

A knot of unease forms in the pit of my stomach.

“But,” the horseman continues, that wicked gleam entering his eyes, “just as flowers wither away, so too does your use.”

In an instant, plants break through the ground, their stalks growing impossibly fast.

I suck in a sharp breath as the first plant wraps itself around one man’s ankle. Another snakes its way up a calf.

The menpanic. One of them reaches for a weapon holstered at his side. Another tries to lift his legs out of the way. None of it is any use. The vines reach out like limbs, dragging Famine’s guards off their frightened steeds.

“Please!” one man begs.

“Oh God!”

And the screams, the bloodcurdling screams.

I sit there, terrified at the sight.

A few of the horses rear up, spooked. Famine shushes the beasts, and this, oddly enough, seems to calm them down. They resettle, shuffling about only a little as their riders are attacked.

The man who first reached for his weapon now lays on his back, trying to hack away at the burgeoningthingwrapping itself around him. If anything, it seems to make the plant grow faster and more aggressively.

“Why?” one of the men gasps, his eyes beseeching the Reaper.

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