Page 51 of Famine

“This is the only true wealth my family has,” the man says. “It’s yours.” He looks up, and I can see in his eyes he wants to beg for someone’s life, but he bites back the words.

I move to stand. For an instant the horseman resists, but eventually he releases me.

God, the Reaper is an odd bastard.

I approach the man and crouch down in front of him. “That’s beautiful,” I say, touching the image of the Virgin, my manacles clanking. “Does it have a story behind it?”

“It was my mother’s—given to her by her mother,” the man says, daring to look from me to the horseman behind me.

“She must’ve loved it very much,” I say.

“Ana, get up.”

I look over my shoulder at Famine, who is signaling to the guards to take the man. I know what happens next.

I grab the man’s wrist, not getting up and refusing to let him get up either, even as Famine’s new recruits close in on us.

“This man is giving away a holy relic,” I say, staring at the Reaper. “Surely you see the sacrifice in that?”

Famine frowns at me. “It’s a shiny trinket dedicated to a false idol. It is less than useless to me.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Isit false?” No one in Brazil stopped believing in the Virgin and her benevolence, not even when the world was being ravaged. If anything, she’s the one thing we clung to most—proof that there’s some mercy to what otherwise appears to be a vengeful God.

Famine narrows his eyes and gives me a mean smile, the expression all but saying,Wouldn’t you like to know?

“Fine,” he says. His eyes move to the man. “I accept your gift.”

For a moment, I relax. But then the guards still close in on the man, one taking his offered jewelry and casting it to the ground. The rest grab the man’s arms and drag him away.

He’s begging to them now, though he leaves willingly enough.

I stare down at the scattered jewelry as the group of them leave the house. The Virgin and all her benevolence stare back up at me.

God is here, she seems to be saying,but even I can do nothing.

“I wonder,” I say, staring down at the small pendant, “if you were a woman who could bear children, if you’d still be so cavalier.”

“Man or woman—it wouldn’t matter. I am not aperson, Ana. I am hunger, I am pain, and no thinly veiled attempts to stop me will work.”

He’s right.

I interceded and it didnothing.

I stand up, still feeling the eyes of both Famine and Our Lady of Aparecida on me.

I walk away from the both of them, heading back to my room, and this time no one stops me.

I stay in my room for the rest of the day. I can hear the pleading, the pained screams, and the rattling death moans. And if I look out my window, I can see the suffering as people are killed, their bodies dumped in an ever growing pile.

I’m hungry and thirsty, but I don’t leave the room, fearful that if I cross paths with Famine again, he’ll once again force me to stay and watch.

I consider fleeing—several times—but these damn manacles are a problem, and no one but Famine can get them off.

About an hour or so after the sun sets and the screams stop, a guard opens the door to my room.

“The horseman wants to see you,” he says.

“Fuckboy can live without my company,” I reply.

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