And no amount of wishing will change that. I'm weeping and broken and I can't process any of it, he continues. I force myself to my feet and stumble towards the back door. And somehow, her incredible life is just gone. She showed me what grace and bravery and compassion and love look like. I know they're gone, but feeling their cool flesh will make it real, and I can't do that just yet". "I dash up the front walkway and barrel through the door.ĭread is already mixing with my fear. Already I've seen children amongst the bodies lying in the streets.
He's already killed off the entire population gathered at the open-air market (sans me, of course) and now he's heading into the town proper. Lazarusĭeath has come to Temple, Georgia. Before the woman can say anything else, I kick my horse into action. You shouldn't be alive, I bite out, my voice hostile.
Never has a human caught my attention like this. The urge to whisk her away is so foreign, so alarming, that my wings fan out. Her soul has cleaved itself to her flesh, and neither my hand nor my power can pry it loose. I don't know how to answer that, she says, looking lost and perhaps a little dazed. Why am I not running? It's too late to hide. I don't know, and my heart is pounding and I should run. I don't recognize you, the horseman says as he comes to a halt in front of me. As the horseman rides, his eyes are pinned to something in the distance. His armor gleams as though it's freshly polished, and those massive black wings lay folded at his back. But there's no idle chatter, no laughter, no shouts or screams, no noisy insects and no bird calls.ĭeath himself, one of the four horseman of the apocalypse. I can hear the gentle sound of wind stirring canvas canopies, trees rustling in the breeze, and the distant glug of some container dripping out its contents. The soft sound of his body hitting the grass is lost in the collective noise of many large objects hitting the ground. I lunge for him, but I'm not fast enough. They're out of season, he responds gruffly. I'll pay eleven dollars for eight of them, he says. It's still a ridiculously unreasonable price, but it's better than a dollar fifty per apple.
I try to focus, though I haven't shaken that unnerving silence that seems to ring in my ears. Everyone seems to be shrugging off the strange behavior like a bad dream. In Year 26 of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a group of creatures wreak havoc at an open-air farmers' market.
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