Empire

35 A Pale Horse

Gene navigated the flaming refuse until he saw the shack, surrounded by hammering undead. He shook the keys in his hand, but the sound was lost amidst crackling flames and groaning. The girl had to be inside. With the shovel in his other hand he began to beat and pry at the backs of the other dead. Many simply stumbled away, disoriented by the smoke. Reaching the door, Gene worked the keys into the lock with awkward hands.

Throwing the door open, he glanced in and immediately spied her under the cot. She tried drawing her legs further in, but it was no use. Gene dropped the keys and gripped the shovel handle tightly, lowering it in order to drive it into her body and tug her into the open.

The girl did something unexpected then; rising up, she overturned the cot onto the shovel, then screamed and ran at him. She tried to duck around him, and he caught the collar of her dress, but the others had seen her and lunged forth as one. Gene let her go and stabbed at them with the shovel.

The girl ran brazenly into the zombie horde. Their stiff arms swept over her, tearing out handfuls of hair and fabric, then smoke poured into the shack and Gene lost all sight of her.

Rotters pressed against him in the doorway as if the child hadn't just escaped. Planting the shovel's head in the chest of the nearest one, Gene threw them back and set off in pursuit of his meal.

A soft, steady sound, like a wind, led Lily away from the landfill, and she saw for the first time in her life waves gently crashing against the beach. The sight was horrifying and liberating all at once — she couldn't swim, she was trapped, unless she braved the waters and kicked her feet and prayed that the ability to stay afloat came naturally. She could swim and swim and swim and never see Jefferson Harbor or its ghouls again.

There was one standing in the sand, looking out on the water; it turned, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It had a gun. It pointed it at her. She screamed.

"What?" It spoke.

It lowered the gun and walked toward her, then broke into a jog; it was a he, a living man! "Little girl? You're alive?" He cried. He took her arms and looked at them, then at her singed curls, and her face, smudged with soot. "Are you all right?"

"They're just over the hill, in the fire." She stammered. "They'll come!"

He nodded and, taking her hand, led her briskly down the shoreline. They both watched over their shoulders, but there didn't appear to be any pursuers; Lily hoped they'd all been burned up.

"Are there more people?" She asked the man. He stopped and mulled the question over. "Yes," he finally answered, "and they can help you. I can't…" Turning his arms over, he showed her a series of bites on both and palms filled with blood.

"I'll take you to them." Shipley said quietly. He looked back at the dark waves, the beckoning sea. It could wait. He could still save a child tonight.

He took her hand again, and then a shovel crossed the beach like a missile and punched through his chest, clearing it of bone and muscle with a THUK before exiting out his back.

Lily ran with a shriek that split the calm of the beach and restored the world to its nightmare order. Gene retrieved his shovel and shambled after her.

"LILY!!!"

The girl turned. She hadn't told the man her name — did the zombie know…?

The man in black tore down the shoreline on his horse, scythe held high.

Gene turned and raised the shovel just in time to block the blade, but was thrown back into the sand nonetheless. Horse and rider continued unabated toward Lily. She opened her arms and let him sweep her up.

And so it was that they came to sit on an outcropping of rock far from the Harbor wall. Death gathered his robes around his feet and watched the ocean's ceaseless dance. Lily, picking bits of ash from her hair, gazed up at him until he returned the look.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"I am the angel of death."

"Am I dead?"

"No. It's not your time yet. That's why I was able to intervene back there."

"But if it was, you couldn't have saved me?"

"No."

She frowned, and so did he. It was difficult enough explaining this to an adult, especially the ones that thought they could bargain for their insignificant lives.

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?" Lily asked.

He opened his mouth to deliver the standard response, the clinical, unfeeling response, to tell her that he had no influence over her insignificant life; but as he thought of the undead, particularly the one that had been after her, and as he thought of the fate that might await her, suddenly Lily seemed…significant.

He had no answer for her. She nodded and looked out at the sea.

On her other side, the horse lowered its head. She nuzzled it and watched its eyes close, its posture relax.

Death's eyes closed, and the contours of his face smoothed.

"Does your horse have a name?"

"I…it's me. My essence, like everything else about me, except for the scythe." He opened his eyes and said flatly, "I am the horse."

She giggled. "I thought so." Then she turned and nuzzled it again. It seemed like she was doing it for his benefit, and it was wholly unnecessary, but he let her continue. For her sake.

"How many people are still alive?"

"Many. Most of them are very far from here."

"If they get bit by those wild rotters, do they die right away?"

"No."

"How long does it take?"

"Sometimes it takes a very short while, other times not. I'm not sure why. It might have to do with their spirit."

Turning from the horse, Lily moved her hand to touch Death's. "Cold."

"Yes."

"If you're the angel of death, why can't you make them all go away?"

"I don't know."

He waited for the next question, but the girl was silent. Eventually it was he who spoke, in a voice that nearly trembled.

"I hate them."

"Daddy Addison wasn't my real daddy. My real one, I don't remember him at all. Or my mom. Do you know who they are?"

"I can see your lineage. I could tell you their names." But it wouldn't much matter, nor would it matter if she knew the name they'd given her at birth.

"Are…are they rotters?"

"No."

"They're alive?"

"No."

"What happened to them?"

He set his jaw and stared hard at the water. She prodded him with her bare toes. "I wanna know."

"You shouldn't…it'll make you sad."

She tried to look tough, but she spoke barely above a whisper. "Did they get eaten?"

"Yes. But there's more to it than that. It's about Baron, it's about why you can never go back to that house."

"What does Baron have to do with it?"

"Your parents came back to the house a few years ago. They wanted to take you away. Addison was already dead then. Baron killed him, just like he killed your brothers and sisters."

"Did…" Tears filled her eyes and they looked black as his. "Did Baron kill my mom and dad?"

"Yes."

"I HATE HIM!!" She shouted. Death flinched away. She grabbed his robes. "You have to kill him. Please!"

"I can't. It doesn't work that way."

"You just don't want to! Why not?? Why won't you do ANYTHING?!"

"I'm not a judge!"

She balled her hands and beat on his shoulder. "I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!!"

He grabbed her arms and tried to steady her. She shrieked and thrashed in his grip, and her curses turned to sobs, and she fell against him.

The horse stepped forward and pressed its muzzle against her shoulder. She threw her arms around its neck and cried long into the night.

In the house in the swamp, Baron Tetch raged.