Pestilence by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 17

Eff the cold, and the horseman along with it.

My teeth chatter nonstop as Trixie Skillz trots ever forward. Even under my layers of clothes and the wool blanket I wear, my body won’t stop shaking.

I might be the one Canadian who can’t stand the cold. Everyone else is like, “Hey look, I can see the sun today, and even though it’s cold enough to freeze water, by God, I think this is T-shirt weather!” Meanwhile, I’m what happens when a human and an ice cube have a baby.

I’m pretty sure I was switched at birth.

“H-how much l-longer?” I ask, my shivers making a mess of my speech.

I’m going to get hypothermia and die out here. And wouldn’t that be ironic? Pestilence’s captive dies of exposure—not to the plague, but to the elements.

The horseman glances down at me from where he holds me fast against his unyielding metal armor. “I’m not sure,” he says. “You could ask nicely and help me decide.”

He means I could say please again and screw myself over.

“Or you can remain quiet and we can ride through the night.”

I swivel to face him. “Y-you are the m-most prideful jerk I-I’ve ever m-met!”

I face forward again, pulling my wet blanket closer around me.

Once this is all over, I’m moving to Mexico. I bet no one dies of the cold in Mexico.

If I thought Pestilence would react to my outburst, I was wrong. We continue on, the minutes passing laboriously. We pass a few settlements so small that if you sneezed you would’ve missed them. The storm lets up briefly, only to then redouble its efforts.

At some point throughout the day my shivers lessen, but it’s not because I’ve managed to warm myself up. Distantly I’m aware that this is bad. My fingers are stiff and hard to move, and my eyes keep drooping.

It’s only when my wool blanket slides off of me and onto the street that I catch Pestilence’s attention.

“I’m not going back for that,” he says.

I sway in my seat, my eyelids drifting closed.

I don’t care. I’m not sure whether I think it or say it, only that the horseman’s arm is suddenly the perfect place to rest my head.

I close my eyes, barely noticing how tense Pestilence is.

“Sara?”

“Mm?” I don’t open my eyes.

“Sara.”

Just going to drift off for a bit …

“Sara.” He turns my face towards him. I blink up at him as his gaze scours my features, lingering on my lips.

He begins to look alarmed. “You’re not alright.”

I’m not, am I?

I think I hear him curse under his breath, then he clicks his tongue, tightening his grip on me. Trixie begins to gallop, his hooves spraying icy water against my legs.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Pestilence roars. Or maybe it’s the wind and rain that’s roaring …

“I’m s-supposed to suffer.”

He huffs, and I swear I hear him say, “Not like this.” But that’s ridiculous because I’m supposed to suffer exactly like this.

At the next turnoff, the horseman tugs on the reins, turning his steed down a muddy dirt path.

I glance up at him, rain and sleet plastering his hair to his face. So much for Pretty Boy’s earlier bath.

“W-where are we going?” I ask. My tongue feels thick and clumsy in my mouth.

“It seems I’ve once again underestimated just how fragile you are.”

It’s the closest thing he gives me to an answer.

Maybe a kilometer or so later, I catch sight of a yellow house that’s seen better days. Pestilence makes a beeline for it, not slowing until we’re nearly at its doorway.

He swings off the horse and gathers me in his arms. In three long strides he’s at the door. His booted foot slams against the wood, kicking the thing inward.

Inside, I hear a flurry of screams.

No, not more people.

“Out of my way!” the horseman bellows.

I catch a brief glimpse of a middle-aged couple and behind them, two curious children.

No.

Pestilence sets me in front of a wood-burning stove, holding me close as I shiver.

I clutch his upper arm and force my eyes to open. “We can’t stay here,” I say, my voice weak.

“I need blankets,” he demands. He’s not even looking at me.

My eyelids keep closing.

Body feels heavy. So heavy.

“Please,” I murmur. I know it’s the wrong thing to say, but I can’t help it. How else should I plead for someone’s life?

“Sshh. Blankets! And more wood while you’re at it.”

A hand brushes my hair back, and I want to look and see who the hand belongs to, but my eyelids are too heavy to pry open. I finally feel safe and taken care of, and that’s all my body needs at the moment. I begin to relax, my head finding the crook of an arm once more.

Such an oddly comfortable place to sleep.

The children!

I begin to sit up again, forcing myself to rouse.

“Sshh, Sara. I’m right here.”

Who?

Not the children.

Not the children.

I come to gradually, getting my bearings bit by bit. A mound of blankets covers me, and in front of me is a wood-burning stove, a fire cheerily burning inside it. I stare at it like it holds the answers to all my questions.

I move slowly, feeling like I drank my weight in bad moonshine then decided to run a marathon before getting hit by a freight train. Yesterday was not my best day.

I groan, beginning to roll away.

As soon as I shift, I feel the wind brush against my bare skin.

What in the world?

Am I naked?

An arm tightens around my stomach, feeling like a band of steel.

… Waitonefuckingmoment.

My mind screeches to a halt.

No.

Nononononononono.

Nooooooooo.

I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there’s Pestilence, spooning me like we’re lovers. From what I can tell, he doesn’t have a shirt on.

Deep breath, Burns.

“Did we … ?” I can’t even finish that sentence.

“You were hypothermic.”

Oh. Of course. That would be the logical sequence of events. Not screwing the world’s most hated being. Because that would be so far out of the question that—

Why am I even dwelling on this?

I gather the blankets around me, clutching them against me, and sit up with as much modesty as I can manage.

“Where are we?”

Pestilence sits up next to me, and now it really looks like the two of us were up to some hanky-panky.

“In a house,” he replies.

Ask a silly question …

In the distance I hear hushed voices.

“No you can’t go out there.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Is that really the horseman?”

“I want to pet his horse!”

“Go back to your rooms, both of you.”

Little feet pitter patter against the floor.

My stomach contracts. Children. That’s right. I rub the heel of my hand against one of my eyes, willing the last twenty-four hours to just go away.

Children. Under the same roof as Pestilence.

“Don’t let them die,” I whisper.

“Everyone dies, Sara.”

I close my eyes. Everything hurts so damn much. My body, my heart, my mind.

They’re going to die.

I twist to face him, pressing the blanket close to me. It has racecars printed all over it. A little boy’s blanket, sacrificed so that I’d be warm. Sometimes it’s the little details that cut the deepest.

“Honestly,” I say, “that is the biggest load of horseshit I’ve heard from you.”

He squints at me. “Every human dies,” he amends, completely missing my point.

“It doesn’t mean they need to die today!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down for the family’s sake.

“They won’t. They still have at few days yet.”

Suddenly I can’t look at him, and I can’t stand to be near him.

He’s going to kill children. Children.

Of course, he already has killed children. Thousands upon thousands of them. But now the reality of it is being shoved in my face and I can’t stand it.

Wordlessly, Pestilence hands me a pile of clothes, undoubtedly something he swiped from the owner’s. This might just be the worst part of the whole thing. The horseman can think to collect clothes for me even as he lets his damnable plague kill kids.

Pestilence settles back on his forearms, watching me as I dress, his eyes not quite as disinterested in my body as they were the last time he saw it.

I must be imagining things.

I finally meet his gaze. “Change your mind.”

“No.”

My jaw clenches as I stare at him, my eyes accusing. He meets my gaze unflinchingly.

“I am not here to please your every whim.” Pestilence’s voice is steady, unfeeling. “I am here to end the world.”