Page 7 of Fires of the Forsaken
Anun-helmeted rider.
Oh. Dear. Christ!
Terror lanced through my chest. The rider wasn’t evenhuman!
He was human-shaped, sure: two arms, two legs, and a head. But the similarities stopped there.
Pale gray skin stretched taut over his skull. And he was, literally, bone thin.
Well, okay, he wore armor, so I didn’t actually know if he was bone thin. But his gaunt face, with those sunken cheeks and eyes, made him look…
Like Jack Skellington, my brain thought frantically.
Except Jack (despite being the best scarer in Halloweentown) had a friendly face. Because he was a character in a freaking kid’s movie.
This rider’s skeletal features made my blood run cold. Because he looked more like a creature in a gory B-horror movie.
He bellowed, his milk-white eyes rolling wildly in their sockets as he leapt back into the saddle.
Was he blind?
But then he looked right at me and bared his long, pointed teeth. The motherfucker could see just fine.
“Shit!” I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think twice. I snatched the little boy under his armpits and hefted him off the ground. “Ah, fuck,” I grunted. The kid was way heavier than he’d looked. Or I was just pathetically weak and out of shape.
Probably the latter.
“There are two alive!” The rider’s warbled voice grated in my ears. He kicked his horse into a gallop.
I flung the kid over my shoulder, ignoring the rocket of pain that shot along my back, andran.
On my best day, I wasn’t exactly a track and field star. The last time I’d run had been for a P.E. test in high school. And I’d almost flunked.
Today? I was twelve years older, twenty-odd pounds heavier, and had a two-ton toddler slung over my shoulder. I moved at the Speed of Snail, tripping over bodies, slipping on blood-slicked grass, and cursing up a blue streak. My knees ached, and a painful stitch drove itself into my ribcage, making it damn near impossible to breathe. But I kept going.
And the hoof beats kept getting closer.
Into the tree line I went, gasping like a winded elephant. The kid whimpered as his wounded head smashed against my shoulder.
Into the tree line the horse followed, its rhythmic, bellowing snorts almost deafening. The rider’s gleeful cackle made me shiver and kick it up another notch.
As if I could outrun a horse, right?
And then I heard hoofbeats coming fromin front of me.
“Fucki—hey, hey!” I shouted, excitement bubbling in my stomach as a fine-boned bay horse crossed over my path. The animal was riderless but fully tacked: saddle, bridle, the whole nine.
The horse didn’t stop when he saw me. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t even acknowledge my presence. But I got close enough to snatch one of the flailing reins.
The horse snorted, the whites of his eyes showing as he flattened his ears at me.
Normally, this would’ve scared me shitless. Horses were freakinghuge. But right now? This stupid, skittish, too-big creature was my only salvation.
“Dude—c’mon. Stay still!” I held onto the rein for dear life. My shoulder popped as I lugged the two-ton toddler over the saddle.
Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Jack Skellington’s black horse was right on top of us. And I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at getting myself on the bay horse’s back in time. The stirrups were too damn high. My legs were too damn short. And the horse wouldn’t stop wriggling.
