Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,22

abates.

Tentatively, I lower my arms. Dust is still settling around me, but it looks … it looks like Anitápolis has been leveled. Just … wiped away.

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.

As I stare, more screams start up. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the noise. Then that, too, goes quiet. All I can hear is my ragged breathing.

Eventually I force my eyes open and just … take in the horror. There are more strange plants holding more limp bodies in their grips.

And now the world is truly silent.

I’m not sure there’s a single soul left.

Except for me—me and the horseman.

For several long moments, I cannot speak. I keep trying to, but words fail me.

I make a sound low in my throat, something that builds into a wail.

At the noise, Famine glances my way. He saunters over and reaches a hand out to me.

I stare up at him, ignoring his hand. “You told me there was nothing to fear.” My voice sounds off.

“Nothing for you to fear,” Famine corrects. “I never promised the same for anyone else.”

I take a few stuttering breaths.

How could I have just let him come here into my town?

This is my fault.

“Is anyone … ?” Alive? I can’t bring myself to say it.

Turns out, I don’t need to.

“You are,” Famine says, his expression remorseless as he stares at me.

That’s … it?

What have I done?

What. Have. I. Done?

I thought compassion was a virtue. That’s what made me save the horseman. So why am I being punished for it?

This is my bad luck, showing up again.

Famine nods to the town. “Grab what you need, then hurry back. I’m eager to leave this place.”

Eager to leave … ? With me?

Surely he’s not serious?

I give him a wild look. “What are you talking about?”

“Get your things,” he says again, gesturing down what’s left of the street.

I follow where he’s pointing. There’s nothing even left to gather. My entire town is nothing but rubble.

Another low moan escapes my throat. My cousins are gone. So is my aunt.

I feel a tear escape, then another. There will be no beating or disownment awaiting my return because my aunt isn’t alive to deliver any of it. The thought breaks something inside of me. She always disliked me; she’d look at me like she saw something no one else did. Something bad. I suddenly feel like her disgust towards me was merited.

My carelessness killed my entire town.

“I’m not going with you,” I whisper, still staring out at the destruction. Reality is beginning to sink in. I’m not sure I ever wanted to be me less than I do right now.

“Of course you are,” Famine says.

“You just murdered”—my voice breaks—“the only family I have.”

He gives me a curious look. “They should have saved me. They didn’t.”

“They didn’t know.” At least I didn’t know—and I couldn’t possibly have been the only person in this town to not know.

Nearby, Famine’s horse whinnies. Guess that fucker survived the wreckage too. Bet he’s a dick, just like his rider.

“Grab your things,” the horseman repeats.

“I’m not going with you,” I say again, this time more resolute.

He exhales, clearly impatient with me. “There’s nothing left for you here.”

My body is beginning to shake. I pinch my eyes shut, willing away the last few minutes.

I hear the horseman take a step towards me. My eyes snap open and I shrink back. “Stay away from me,” I say.

He frowns. “You showed me kindness when I’d all but forgotten it existed. I won’t harm you, flower,” he says, his voice soft. “But now you must get up. I have lingered in these parts for far too long.”

More tears are coming; they silently drip down my cheeks. “This is all my fault,” I say, taking in my surroundings. Everything is so still.

“They were always going to die,” Famine says, his expression turning stony. “I would’ve torn this town apart even if you had never cared for me.”

I think that’s supposed to make me feel better. It doesn’t.

“Now,” he says, a note of steel entering his voice. “Get. Up.”

Getting up means dealing with this situation. I’m most definitely not ready for that. I wrap my arms around myself instead.

The horseman steps in close, placing a warm palm against my shoulder. Instinctively, I flinch away.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own.

My eyes fall to the basket that’s rolled meters away, and regret sits heavy in my stomach.

Near my basket a thorny bush begins to grow, rising higher by the second. Leaves unfurl, the plant