Famine by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 8

Five years ago

Anitápolis, Brazil

I don’t believe the rumors. Not until I see him.

For the last couple years, there had been whispers in my town of the immortal man who raised the seas and split the earth. The horseman who came to our land and tried to cross us humans. Rumor was that he was caught and, as punishment, locked up somewhere in the vast Serra do Mar. Somewhere near our town.

I hadn’t given the rumor much thought until now.

Through the torrential downpour, my eyes snag on a lump laying off to the side of the dirt road.

Don’t look too hard.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that once my mind pieces together what I’m seeing I’m not going to like it. But it’s impossible to look away. My shoes squish against the mud as I close in on the thing. Eventually I realize I’m staring at a muddy, bloody torso. One that’s been mutilated nearly past the point of recognition.

My breath comes fast, and I nearly drop my basket of jabuticabas, the dark fruit rolling perilously around.

Who could’ve done this to another human?

Get home—now.

Whoever attacked this person, they could still be out here, and this poor soul who’s been left for dead, there’s no sense helping them now. They’re clearly dead.

As I walk past the body, I can’t help it—I slow, my curiosity getting the better of me. That’s when I notice something odd. The skin that rings what must be the person’s neck and chest … it glows.

Is it a necklace? What piece of jewelry glows? I stare at the bare torso, noting absently that it’s a man.

Stop staring and go home. Whoever he is, he’s dead, I’m soaked to the bone, and if I arrive home late again, Aunt Maria will have my hide.

Not to mention that a killer might be hiding in the forest that presses up against the road. He might be watching me at this very moment.

With that spooked thought, I push myself to my feet and reach for my basket, the rain still pelting down on me. Just as I start to walk away, I hear a ragged, broken sound at my back.

I spin around, and now the jabuticabas do spill out of my basket.

My gaze scans the trees around the road, certain the killer is going to spring out at any moment.

That’s when I hear the sound again, only this time, it clearly comes from the bloody carcass in front of me.

Holy shit.

Could the man still be … alive?

The thought is beyond terrifying. He’s been shredded to pieces.

I swallow, taking a step towards the body, dread pooling in my stomach.

Just check to make sure he’s dead …

Still, I hesitate before I touch him. He’s missing an entire arm; it’s just gone. His other arm ends at his elbow, the frayed edges of it a pulpy mess.

My gaze moves down to his chest, which is crisscrossed with lash marks all the way down to his groin. His legs haven’t been amputated, but like his torso, they seem to be flayed open in several spots. Rivulets of watery blood snake away from the naked man, mixing with the rainwater.

The sight of so much pain makes me want to weep.

What happened to you?

The man is so still. Too still. Whatever sound I heard earlier, I must’ve been mistaken.

There’s no way a human could survive these wounds.

My skin is still prickling, instincts telling me to run before whoever did this attacks me too.

Before I get up, I place a hand on the man’s chest, right over his heart—just to be sure he’s well and truly gone.

Beneath my palm, he’s utterly still. There’s no intake of breath, no thump of his heart.

Dead.

I start to withdraw my hand when my attention snags on the soft green light glowing only centimeters away from my fingertips. I squint as I take it in—

What in the hell?

My hand moves of its own accord, my fingers trailing over the glowing markings. This is no piece of jewelry. The markings are a part of the man’s skin.

My eyes flick to the stranger’s face, which is hidden by his matted hair. My pulse begins to quicken.

Could this actually be … ?

But that would mean that the rumors were true. Those ridiculous, frightening rumors.

Surely that can’t be right. Any being strong enough to shake the earth and kill crops couldn’t possibly be contained by humans.

But now I can hear my pulse pounding between my ears and I’m still staring at that face, hidden behind a curtain of wet hair.

On a whim, I reach out and push the dripping locks away from the man’s face, tucking them behind his ear.

At my touch, his eyes snap open, his irises a brilliant green color.

I scream, falling back on my butt.

God and all the saints! What in the actual fuck?

“Help,” he whispers to me, and then his eyes fall shut again.

I’m shivering, staring at the horseman’s unconscious form.

He’s alive. The horseman. The creature sent from God to kill everyone. He’s alive and he’s missing appendages, and now he wants my help.

I hug my arms together. What am I supposed to do?

Tell the town. People need to know the horseman has come.

Would anyone even believe me? An hour ago I wouldn’t have believed me.

So what if they believe you’re a fool? Tell them and let them make up their own minds.

I get to my feet and begin to walk away, my steps hurried.

But then … then I stop. I cast an unsure glance over my shoulder.

That man—supernatural or not—is too hurt to harm anyone. And judging by his wounds, he’s not the great monster the stories made him out to be.

Someone did that to him. Someone who was surely a human.

I stare at his crumpled form for a little longer.

Help. He’d used his only breath to ask for my help.

The thought makes my chest tighten.

If this truly is the horseman … I really should just walk away.

Still, I linger there, in the middle of the road, my eyes fixed on him.

I think about my aunt, who hardly gives two shits about me. If I were lying in a ditch, I’m not sure she’d save me.

I know what it’s like to not be wanted.

And if I were the one hurt and begging for help, I’d want someone to care. Even a stranger.

I swallow.

Fuck, I’m going to do this.

Rain pelts my skin as I grab the horseman under the armpits, my gaze moving up and down the muddy road. There’s no one on this backcountry trail. No one but me and the horseman But someone will come, it’s just a matter of time.

One painstaking step at a time, I drag the horseman off the road and towards an abandoned house that I used to play inside when I was a kid. Even missing appendages, he weighs more than a freaking cow—and a fat cow at that.

The whole time, my heart pounds. Whoever did this to him really could still be out there.

And they’re probably looking for him.

Once I’m inside the building, my legs buckle, and I fall, the horseman collapsing on top of me.

For several seconds I lay beneath his bloody body, struggling to breathe. Of course this is how I would meet my end—suffocating to death under the weight of this gargantuan man. Only I would get myself into this stupid situation.

Can’t believe I’m actually trying to save a fucking horseman of the apocalypse.

Grunting, I push the man off of me, letting his body roll to the side.

I glance at the horseman’s twisted form, frowning.

Maybe save is the wrong word. The man seems pretty dead. And yet still I’m here, hanging out with his body when I should be getting home.

This is why my Aunt Maria doesn’t like me. I can hear her even now. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

At the thought of her, I remember the basket of fruit I left back on the road. If I’m not only late getting home but I somehow also manage to lose both the fruit and her basket, she’s definitely going to disown my curious ass.

I drag myself back outside into the pouring rain and fetch the stupid basket, half hoping that the horseman is somehow gone when I return to the abandoned building.

But of course he’s not. He still lays in the bloody, dripping heap where I left him.

It’s not too late to walk away—or to tell someone about him.

Of course, I’m not going to.

Too sentimental, my cousins call me.

I set the basket aside and crouch near the horseman. My muscles still tremble from my earlier exertion, but I force myself to lay the horseman out, trying to situate him in as comfortable a position as possible. The whole time I grimace at the cold feel of his body.

He has to be dead.

But the last time I thought that, he wasn’t, and that’s enough to keep me inside this damn house.

So I sit across the room from him as the rain pelts against the leaky roof, ignoring my rising anxiety that I’m not home and will most definitely get a beating for it. I close my eyes and lean my head back against a nearby wall.

I think I might’ve nodded off because when I blink open my eyes it’s nearly dark outside.

On the other side of the room, I hear a terrifying, keening sound. My eyes cut to the source, and there’s the horseman, his weird glowing tattoos giving the house an eerie green glow. In the fading light, I can see the whites of his eyes. He looks confused and frightened.

He is alive after all.

I haven’t exactly thought through what I’m doing when I get up and move over to him, kneeling at his side. He’s staring at the remnants of his arms, which I swear look as though they’ve regrown …

I place a soothing hand on his bare chest. At my touch, the horseman flinches, as though he expects a hit to come. My throat tightens at that. I know the feeling all too well.

“You’re safe,” I whisper.

The horseman’s gaze snaps to me. His face is still swollen and bruised but I think—I think beneath all those injuries he has a beautiful face.

Why are you thinking about his face?

He tries to move his arm—I think to push me away—but there’s not enough arm to move.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I vow, my voice resolute. I hadn’t fully committed to helping this man before, but now, seeing him hurting and frightened, I won’t leave him.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask.

He studies me, those green eyes almost as piercing as the markings on his chest. He doesn’t respond.

He must be thirsty. He hasn’t drank anything all day. I unhook the canteen I carry at my side and move it to his lips.

The horseman gives me one hell of a distrustful look.

I raise an eyebrow. Does he think I poisoned the water? As if I’d go to that much trouble.

Just to prove to him that the water is fine, I bring the canteen to my lips and take a swallow. I lower it from my mouth and bring it to his.

He gives his head a shake.

“You must be thirsty,” I insist.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

“Suit yourself,” I say, setting my canteen aside.

“Why?” he grits out.

Why are you helping me? he means.

“It’s what any decent person would do.”

He lets out a disbelieving huff, like there’s no such thing as a decent person.

The two of us sit in silence. I want to ask him all sorts of questions now that he’s awake, but I bite them back. He’s in pretty rough condition.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, he makes a low noise, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering.

I hear his teeth gnash together and the high pitched sound of a bottled up scream.

Oh. Duh, Ana. The man is in major pain.

Without much forethought, I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. My father used to do this to soothe me when I was sick.

Another pained sound slips out of his mouth, and I withdraw my hand, thinking that maybe this isn’t so calming after all. But then the horseman leans his head towards my hand, seeking out my touch.

Feeling brave, I scoot closer, until his head is nearly in my lap. Then I resume running my fingers through his hair. The action seems to soothe the horseman. As I watch, his eyes flutter closed and his breathing evens out.

“What happened to you?” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to.

What are you doing, Ana? Of all the mistakes I’ve made, this may be my worst one yet.

Problem is, I don’t regret it, even though I should.

I most definitely should.

I wake up in the middle of the night to distant shouting. I push myself up, blinking around me. Last I remember I was running my fingers through the horseman’s hair. But then I’d gotten tired and laid down …

I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn. It’s still dark out and—

“… got away! … motherfucker … away!”

That wakes me up quickly.

The horseman is still lying next to me. The green glow from his markings illuminates his face; his eyes are open. He’s already aware of them.

I glance out the window, straining to hear what’s going on.

“… all the men … dead …”

I glance down at the horseman. If I heard that correctly, then this man murdered people before I stumbled across him. A shiver runs through me.

The horseman meets my gaze. I wish he didn’t look so damn vulnerable.

It must’ve been in self-defense, I tell myself. I saw his wounds with my own eyes. I’d probably kill whoever did that to me too.

“You’re safe,” I repeat, my heart beating madly. I’m not going to give him up now.

The room we’re in is illuminated in the horseman’s soft green light, and unfortunately for us, this house is not so far from the main road. Eventually, those men are going to notice the light coming from this place—if they haven’t already.

Making a quick decision, I pull off my shirt and throw it over the horseman’s chest. The fabric mutes the glow almost completely, making the room too dark to see.

The two of us sit in the darkness, listening.

“… can track him … can’t be far …”

I feel myself go cold all over.

“… pointless … rain … tracks … morning …”

Maybe the rain washed away all evidence that I dragged the horseman here. Maybe we got lucky.

I think of how little luck I’ve had in my life. Best not to assume it will suddenly save the day now.

The voices move off, and they don’t come back. Whatever they decided, it doesn’t lead them back our way.

Maybe we’re okay—for now.

After that, I can’t sleep, too afraid of those people finding us.

My gaze creeps back to the horseman’s dark form. I can’t get that first image of him out of my head. He was so mutilated … the thought still takes my breath away. It doesn’t help that every so often I hear a gasp of pain in the darkness. I can no longer tell if he’s sleeping or not. I go back to stroking his hair, and the action seems to calm him.

As the night wears on, the chilly air pricks at my bare skin. I don’t dare take my shirt back from the horseman, even though I’m freezing. I begin to shiver, my teeth clicking together.

“You’re cold.” His husky voice seems as though it’s pulled from the darkness itself. It makes my skin prick, though not in an unpleasant way.

“I’m okay.”

I’m in such deep trouble it’s not even funny. If I don’t get caught in the crosshairs of those men who are looking for the horseman, men who might not mind hurting a teenage girl, then my Aunt Maria is going to disown me.

I can hear her shrill voice even now. Thought you could spend the night with some boy, you little idiot? Well, if you think you’re old enough for sex, then you’re old enough to live on your own.

And that would be that.

Or maybe she’ll just beat the living shit out of me.

Not all my shivering is from the cold.

“Lay next to me.”

The horseman’s voice drags me from my thoughts.

I stare at where I think his eyes are as his words coil low in my belly. I can tell he doesn’t mean to make the offer sexual, but between that rough voice and the fact that our torsos are both bare, my mind can’t help going there.

I’ve never laid next to a man who I wasn’t related to.

“You’re hurt,” I say. “I don’t want to jostle—”

“If you were worried about jostling my injuries, you wouldn’t have dragged me damn close to the point of death.”

To be honest, I think I dragged him past the point of death, but apparently he can live through that too.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I say. “I was trying to help you.”

He grunts, though I have no clue whether he believes me or not.

“I … couldn’t leave you,” I admit, picking at a fingernail.

The room is quiet for a long moment. Then—

“Lay down next to me,” he says again.

I run my teeth over my lower lip.

“I don’t trust you,” I confess.

“That makes two of us.”

I make a disbelieving noise. “I saved you.”

“If this is your idea of saving a man—” His voice cuts off and he takes a ragged breath, “then I don’t want to know what your idea of punishment is.”

“I can’t believe—” My teeth chatter, “I actually felt bad for you. You’re so rude.”

“Fine,” he says, “stay cold.”

I glare at his form in the darkness. It’s clear he’s done talking.

I last maybe another fifteen minutes before I curse under my breath, then scooch over to his side. I bump into something wet and gooey. The horseman hisses in a breath.

Shit—

“Sorry!” I apologize.

He grunts again.

Gingerly I lay myself down next to him, bumping his arm twice more on accident. Each time he makes a low, pained sound.

Bet he’s regretting his offer now.

Finally, my bare skin presses against the side of his torso. The only place to put my head is on his shoulder, and I can’t help but breathe him in. This is how lovers sleep, nestled in each other’s arms.

Why am I even thinking about that?

“Don’t get any ideas,” I say out loud, as though the horseman is the one with the dirty thoughts.

“Because your flesh is so tempting right now,” he quips.

My face heats a little. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

“I don’t have hands at the moment. And until I reacquire them, I think you can save worrying about my capabilities.”

“Wait—‘reacquire them’?” I echo weakly.

The horseman doesn’t respond to that. But now my mind is hyper-focused on his injuries. I can still see his horrible, mangled body lying in the mud like he’d been discarded.

“How did you survive what happened to you?” I ask.

There’s a pause.

“I cannot die,” he finally says.

He cannot die?

“Oh.”

The silence stretches out.

“What’s your name?” I ask. As far as I’m aware, there are four horsemen, and I don’t have a single clue which one this is.

I swear I feel him looking at me with those frightful green eyes. In the darkness he begins to laugh.

“You don’t know?” he finally says. “I’m Famine, the third horseman of the apocalypse, and I’m here to kill you all.”