Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(79)

I return to the pew like a good little girl (ugh), and sit there, letting everyone believe I’m meek.

Five minutes tick by agonizingly slowly.

In the distance, I hear a faint neigh.

Trixie.

I mean to wait longer, but hearing Pestilence’s horse is what breaks the last of my patience. I can’t keep sitting here when have no idea what’s happening to my horseman.

I push myself out of the pew again.

Handlebar Mustache tenses when he sees me back on my feet. Before I can so much as exit the pew, he heads me off.

Don’t look at his belt.

“Is there something you need?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, there is.”

Before he has a chance to respond, I make a grab for his gun. My hand cradles cold metal just as he lets out a surprised shout.

I level the firearm at him and flip off the safety. “Get out of my way.”

Around me, I hear gasps.

The man lifts his arms, “Now wait just a second there. Let’s not do anything hasty. We’re just trying to help you.”

I must not look nearly as threatening as I feel because several other people begin to creep in.

Better make your stand before this unravels.

Raising the gun to the air, I fire off a shot. The sound, already deafening, is made all the louder by the church’s acoustics.

People scream, several covering their heads. Above me, plaster rains down.

I train the gun once more on the man I stole it from.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “And you can help me by getting out of my fucking way.”

Handlebar Mustache must see that there’s just a little too much crazy in my eyes for his own well-being. He steps aside.

I swing the gun towards the other people who stand between me and the exit. They back up, their arms in the air.

The church is uncomfortably silent, the only sound my muted footfalls on the worn carpet.

I’m nearly to the double doors when Handlebar Mustache calls out to me, “Why have you forsaken your own people for that thing?”

He has the audacity to ask the question while standing in a church.

I turn back to face the man, my gaze sweeping over the rest of the wide-eyed men and women that watch me.

“I haven’t forsaken you,” I say. “God has.”





Chapter 41


Trixie lingers right outside the church. As soon as he sees me, Pestilence’s steed shuffles over, his snout nudging my cheek. I can almost imagine that he’s greeting me fondly.

I brush my hand over his face, frowning at the dark stain down his side.

The horseman’s blood.

I hoist myself into the saddle and stroke the steed’s mane. “Take me to Pestilence.”

We were ambushed just around the corner of the church, so it doesn’t take long to return to the site. Even still, by the time we arrive, Pestilence is already half buried in a shallow grave off to the side of the road.

The people in gas masks stand around the grave, dumping shovelfuls of dirt into it.

The stolen gun is still hot in my hand. By the time the first man lifts his head in my direction, I’m already aiming it at him. He makes a surprised noise, dropping his shovel. The other men glance at him before looking around in confusion. They, too, startle when they see me astride Pestilence’s horse, weapon in hand.

Now that I have their attention—

“You all have five seconds to make yourselves scarce. Then I start shooting.”

No one budges.

“One—”

Now people begin to scramble.

“Two—”

One of the men reaches for his gun.

I fire off a warning shot, the gun kicking back in my hand.

They drop their shovels and abandon the grave. A few of them take off running, but some still loiter, not ready to let a woman scare them off.

“Three—”

The masked men move onto the street, backing away from me, a couple with their hands in the air.

Like that’s going to placate me.

“Four—”

They move back a little faster.

“Five.”

I click my tongue, attempting the sound Pestilence makes. Beneath me, Trixie leaps forward, charging down the street.

Now the last of the masked men sprint for their lives. Nothing like having an undead steed running you down to get you going. I fire another shot, just to give them a good scare.

Halfway down the street, I pull on the reins, letting the men get away from us, watching their forms grow smaller and smaller.

These people knew before they saw me that I was traveling with Pestilence.

A foreboding shiver passes over me.

If that gets back to the media, the world will soon know I’m no longer his captive.

I force back a cry when I stare down at Pestilence’s makeshift grave. He’s nearly unidentifiable, his body awash in blood, dirt, and pulpy, fleshy things.

I don’t want to move him out of fear that I’ll hurt him.

Townspeople will come back. You may only have minutes.

That’s what gets me going.

Setting the gun aside, I crouch next to the grave and hook my arms beneath Pestilence’s armpits.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

And then I begin to pull.