Page 40 of Famine

The horseman’s expression is downright chilling. “Because you are human, and you were meant to die.”

I hear the snap of bones and the strangled cries as the men fight for air. It seems like an eternity before they all go still. And I guess it’s a small mercy that they do go still; they could’ve clung to life like the old man I met when I first entered Curitiba.

I make a noise as I gasp in a breath. I’m surrounded on all sides by the dead.

The rider who my horse was hitched to lays a meter away from my horse, his mouth parted in a silent scream.

I stare at the Reaper, beginning to tremble. He enjoyed killing these men. I saw it with my own eyes.

Famine hops off his horse and moves over to the other steeds, systematically removing their saddles and harnesses, humming under his breath as he does so. One by one, he releases the horses, letting them wander off down the desolate streets.

Eventually, he makes his way to me. I still haven’t moved, hemmed in by the dead as I am.

“Come, flower,” Famine says, his voice deceptively gentle. He steps over to my side and reaches for me.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I had almost convinced myself that this man was a pushover, and pushovers can’t be scary, right?

Butfuck, I don’t think he’s a pushover, and no matter how disarming he is to talk to, all these bodies around me are a reminder that he’s still a wretched monster.

When Famine sees my expression, he raises his eyebrows. “If you didn’t have the stomach for my killing, you shouldn’t have sought me out.”

He’s right, of course. I could’ve stayed far away. Besides, the men he killed might’ve been the few that actuallydeserveddeath.

Still.

I take in Famine’s disarming, devilish face.

This is a creature that needs to be vanquished.

“You can either lift your arms and cooperate, or I can drag you off this horse,” he says. “I can tell you which one you’ll enjoy better.”

Reluctantly, I lift my shackled hands, and the horseman helps pull me off the horse.

He whistles, and his own steed walks over.

I can’t look at him. Not as he lifts me onto his own mount, not while he removes my former horse’s trappings and sets this last steed free. Not even once he swings himself into the saddle behind me.

Famine’s bronze armor digs into my back as he settles against me, and one of his massive arms drapes itself casually over my leg. His closeness only makes me tremble worse.

The Reaper clicks his tongue and his horse starts forward, picking its way past the bodies.

We’ve gone less than a block when he murmurs, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” His breath is warm against my ear. “I’ve told you before: you don’t need to fear me—not now, anyway.” The Reaper’s voice is gentle, but somehow that makes it all worse.

“Why did you do that?” My voice comes out like a croak.

There’s a long pause, and I genuinely think it takes him a moment to figure out what I’m referring to.

His fingers tap against my thigh. “They would’ve turned on me soon enough,” he finally says.

“You let them pack their things and ready their horses,” I whisper. “You had them ready a horse forme. Why?” My voice hitches. “Why do that if you were just going to kill them all?”

“You assume my mind works like yours. It doesn’t.”

Thankfuckfor that.

The two of us are quiet for several beats, the only sound the tread of his horse’s footfalls and the slight jangle of my manacles. We pass by several rotting bodies, their forms caught within the grasp of more plants and trees.

“Is there any horror you are unwilling to commit?” I eventually ask.

---