Pestilence by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 47

My chest bows and I take in a sharp, shuddering breath.

Jesus, the pain! Like someone’s holding a flaming torch against my chest.

I force my eyes open, taking in the sparse hospital room around me.

Not dead.

The thought seems preposterous after the gunshot wound I sustained.

My hand moves to my hospital gown. I shift it aside enough to take a look at my bandaged chest. There’s not much to see besides the linen wrappings, but hot damn does the pain make up for it.

I’m most definitely in the land of the living. Being dead couldn’t possibly ache this much, and I doubt the Afterlife smells this God-awful. The air is thick with that chemical smell that all hospitals have—like this is humanity’s last rallying cry against disease. And judging by the scent of death that also stains the air, it’s a weak rallying cry at that.

It’s only then that I realize I have no idea how I came to be in this room, and there’s no one else around to fill in the blanks for me.

I listen for a minute, straining my ears to hear anything beyond my room, but all is quiet. The whole place is just one long, terrible silence.

I begin to kick off my sheets, then let out a hiss.

Christ, this injury hurts worse than being dragged behind Pestilence’s horse. The pain is everywhere and in everything. Now that I’ve awakened it, it seems to surround me. I take several swallows of air, closing my eyes against the violent sting of it. When it finally abates, I begin to move again, this time slowly and stiffly.

I clench my teeth against the pain when I make it to the door. I have to lean against it for several seconds, just catching my breath. I sway on my feet.

Not going to make it very far past this point.

I still grab for the knob. I turn the cool handle and open the door.

The smell hits me first. Like Death dropped his pants and took a shit.

My throat closes up, unwilling to breathe in the fumes. My heart begins to pound madly as I step into the hallway.

That’s when I see them. Dozens of bloated, rotting bodies slump against the walls and or lay sprawled across the floor.

I gag at the sight. If there had been anything at all in my stomach, it would’ve come up.

Why didn’t these people evacuate when they had the chance?

They were unwilling or unable to, Burns.

And so they died.

Clomp, clomp, clomp. Hooves click against linoleum. A moment later, Pestilence rounds the corner, towing Trixie behind him.

I freeze at the sight of him.

Unlike me, who must look like fresh shit (because I certainly feel like it), Pestilence is back to looking angelic—unstained, unsullied, untouchable.

The only thing about him that’s different is the harsh set of his features. I didn’t realize that hardness had been missing from his expression—even when he hated me—until now. But as soon as he sees me, his face softens. Softens completely.

Pestilence releases his horse’s reins and swiftly strides over to me. He cups my face and kisses me, his lips lingering. “You’re awake—awake and alive.” He pulls away, his eyes shining as they search mine.

I swallow. By all rights I should be dead.

I was dead … wasn’t I?

For a moment my mind conjures up a brief flash of wings, but then the image slips away.

“I meant to be here when you woke.” Pestilence’s hands glide over me, like they need to make sure that I am, in fact, alive. “I did not leave your side, not until an hour ago when I retrieved Tricksy.”

One of his palms moves over my heart. He rests it there, closing his eyes. “I thought you had died,” his voice breaks, “that you had slipped beyond my reach.”

I touch his cheek. “You saved me.”

Pestilence leans into the touch, his eyes opening. “I will always save you,” he says fervently. “And what you went through will never happen again.”

A chill runs through me as shadows enter his eyes. His gaze clears a moment later, and I think I might’ve imagined the whole thing.

Pestilence frowns. “You should not be out of bed, Sara.”

I really shouldn’t be.

“I’m fine,” I say smoothly.

The horseman’s frown deepens at the lie.

My eyes move past his shoulder, where bloated bodies lie about. “What happened?” My voice is low and raspy.

Rather than responding, Pestilence begins to usher me towards Trixie. I try to stand against him, try to hold out until he gives me answers, but he’s much too strong and much too stubborn, so I let him silently lead me back to his steed.

“Hey there,” I weakly say to Trixie. Last time I saw the horse, he’d been all but dead. Now the beast drops his nose and nudges me.

Hitched behind Trixie is a wagon, the bed of it lined with a plush mattress, a pillow and a blanket.

For me.

A hazy memory surfaces.

I love her.

That’s what Pestilence had said.

I grab his forearm. “I heard you.” I swivel to look at Pestilence even as my heartrate picks up. It’s not just pain that’s now overwhelming me, it’s all these exquisite emotions that are too big to fit beneath my skin.

The horseman looks at me quizzically. “Heard what, dear Sara?”

“You love me.” My voice catches.

I don’t question the sentiment like I once did, when he got confused between love and lust. Not after what the two of us just went through.

He pauses. At first I see some hesitancy in his gaze, as though he’s not sure how I’m going to react to that news. But whatever expression I wear, it causes his eyes to shine.

“Yes, Sara, I do,” he says, resolutely. Fiercely. Like his love is here and it’s here to stay.

Just as I’m about to smile, another memory comes back to me.

Then I hope it hurts to watch her die.

The words have my stomach knotting up.

Had a doctor said that? It seemed like it from the bits I remember of the conversation. And we are in a hospital. It would make sense that Pestilence spoke with a doctor … a doctor who wanted Pestilence to understand a thing or two about loss.

That’s about when the screams began. I thought maybe they’d been in my head, those screams, but now I look around again. These people have blood coming out their ears and their eyes, their noses and their mouths. Plague victims don’t look like that.

“What happened?” I repeat, staring at the bodies.

Something is not right here.

“They would not heal you.” Pestilence’s voice is cold, so cold.

My eyes sweep the hallway before returning to him. “All of them?”

“Enough.”

My eyes linger on what used to be a nurse, her eyes, ears, and nose bloody. These deaths weren’t from plague. They were revenge killings.

I’m beginning to shake, and I think it’s from horror.

“If they all died, then who did heal me?” I ask.

“There were a handful whom I found, and I kept them alive long enough to tend to you.”

Long enough.

“Come,” he says, cutting off the rest of my questions so that he can help me onto the cart.

He helps lay me down, and I have to pinch my eyes shut because he’s being so gentle, so careful. Even though he recently mass exterminated a hospital, he handles me like I’m delicate.

“Don’t do that, Sara,” he says quietly.

He’s not going to spare humanity, just me.

“Do what?” I force my eyes open.

“Don’t act like I’m the monster. They were going to let you die.” His gaze burns, like he’s still trapped in the flames.

“Not all of them,” I whisper.

“Enough.”

I glance away from the horseman.

“This is what I was created to do!” he says hotly. “They died fast. Doesn’t that count for something?”

It does. And they would’ve died regardless. It’s just that I saw all those bodies, and that is a sight I can never unsee.

It’s one thing to watch a family die in their homes, to talk to them and care for them and witness their deaths. It’s another to see a building full of rotting corpses, their faces awash with terror. I can’t see them for the people they once were, and that makes them all the more grotesque.

I don’t respond. Honestly, I’m too damn tired to argue with Pestilence right now.

“So be it,” he says.

So be it. That’s also what he said right before he pressed his will on a room full of doctors and nurses and sick people.

I shiver again, ignoring the frustrated growl that leaves his throat. He stalks back to his horse and swings himself into the saddle. Even the click of his tongue sounds irritated.

The cart bumps as it rolls over the bodies. I grimace as it jostles my injuries, the pain so intense it closes my throat up, but it’s the thought of all those bodies that causes me to dry heave.

He gave those people a quick death; I shouldn’t be upset. It’s just that this time, he was angry when he killed them.

And I’m to blame for that.

For the first time, a dark, insidious realization creeps up on me—

Pestilence’s love for me might not save human lives. It might end them all the faster.